■r  V  -V  r 


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A 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE 


WILLIAM     BLACK, 

AUTHOR   OF 

••A  PRINCESS  OF   THULE,"   "THE   STRANGE  ADVENTURES  OF  A 

PHAETON, "   "A  DAUGHTER  OF   HETH,"   ETC.,   ETC, 


NEW  YORK: 

JOHN   W.   LOVELL    COMPANY, 
14  AND  16  Vesey  Street. 


MACLEOD   OF  DARE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE   SIX    BOYS    OF    DARE. 


The  sun  had  sunk  behind  the  lonely  western  seas  ;  Ulva, 
and  Lunga,  and  the  Dutchman's  Cap  had  grown  dark  on  the 
darkening  waters  ;  and  the  smooth  Atlantic  swell  was  boom- 
ing along  the  sombre  caves  ;  but  up  here  in  Castle  Dare,  on 
the  high  and  rocky  coast  of  Mull,  the  great  hall  was  lit  with 
such  a  blaze  of  candles  as  Castle  Dare  had  but  rarely  seen. 
And  yet  there  did  not  seem  to  be  any  grand  festivities  going 
forward  ;  for  there  were  only  three  people  seated  at  one  end 
of  the  long  and  narrow  table  ;  and  the  banquet  that  the  faith- 
ful Hamish  had  provided  for  them  was  of  the  most  frugal 
kind.  At  the  head  of  the  table  sat  an  old  lady  with  silvery- 
white  hair  and  proud  and  fine  features.  It  would  have  been 
a  keen  and  haughty  face  but  for  the  unutterable  sadness  of 
the  eyes — blue-gray  eyes  under  black  eyelashes  that  must 
have  been  beautiful  enough  in  her  youth,  but  were  now 
dimmed  and  worn,  as  if  the  weight  of  the  world's  sorrows  had 
been  too  much  for  the  proud,  high  spirit.  On  the  right  of 
Lady  Macleod  sat  the  last  of  her  six  sons,  Keith  by  name,  a 
tall,  sparely  built,  sinewy  young  fellow,  with  a  sun-tanned 
cheek  and  crisp  and  curling  hair,  and  with  a  happy  and  care- 
less look  in  his  clear  eyes  and  about  his  mouth  that  rather 
blinded  one  to  the  firm  lines  of  his  face.  Glad  youth  shone 
there,  and  the  health  begotten  of  hard  exposure  to  wind  and, 

M45S14 


2  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

weather.  What  was  life  to  him  but  a  laugh  :  so  long  as  there 
was  a  prow  to  cleave  the  plunging  seas,  and  a  glass  to  pick 
out  the  branching  antlers  far  away  amidst  the  mists  of  the 
corrie?  To  please  his  mother,  on  this  the  last  night  of  his 
being  ai  home,  he  wore  the  kilts  ;  and  he  had  hung  his  broad 
blue  bonnet,  vviUi  its  sprig  of  juniper — the  badge  of  the  clan 
-*45)ii'the'topc'f  one  of  many  pikes  and  halberds  that  stood 
by  the  great  fireplace.  Opposite  him,  on  the  old  lady's  left 
hand,  sat  his  cousin,  or  rather  half-cousin,  the  plain-featured 
but  large-hearted  Janet,  whom  the  poor  people  about  that 
neighborhood  regarded  as  being  something  more  than  any 
mere  mortal  woman.  If  there  had  been  any  young  artist 
among  that  Celtic  peasantry  fired  by  religious  enthusiasm  to 
paint  the  face  of  a  Madonna,  it  would  have  been  the  plain 
features  of  Janet  Macleod  he  would  have  dreamed  about  and 
striven  to  transfer  to  his  canvas.  Her  eyes  were  fine,  it  is 
true  :  they  were  honest  and  tender ;  they  were  not  unlike  the 
eyes  of  the  grand  old  lady  who  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table  ; 
but,  unlike  hers,  they  were  not  weighted  with  the  sorrow  of 
years. 

"  It  is  a  dark  hour  you  have  chosen  to  go  away  from  your 
home,"  said  the  mother ;  and  the  lean  hand,  resting  on  the 
table  before  her,  trembled  somewhat. 

"  Why,  mother,"  the  young  man  said,  lightly,  "  you  know 

I  am  to  have  Captain 's  cabin  as  far  as  Greenock  ;  and 

there  will  be  plenty  of  time  for  me  to  put  the  kilts  away  be- 
fore I  am  seen  by  the  people." 

"  Oh,  Keith,"  his  cousin  cried — ^for  she  was  trying  to  be 
very  cheerful,  too — "  do  you  say  that  you  are  ashamed  of  the 
tartan  ? " 

"  Ashamed  of  the  tartan  !  "  he  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  Is 
there  any  one  who  has  been  brought  up  at  Dare  who  is  likely 
to  be  ashamed  of  the  tartan !  When  I  am  ashamed  of  the 
tartan  I  will  put  a  pigeon's  feather  in  my  cap,  as  the  new 
suaicheantas  of  this  branch  of  Clann  Leoid.  But  then,  my 
good  Janet,  I  would  as  soon  think  of  taking  my  rifle  and  the 
dogs  through  the  streets  of  London  as  of  wearing  the  kilts  in 
the  south." 

The  old  lady  paid  no  heed.  Her  hands  were  now  clasped 
before  her.     There  was  sad  thinking  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  are  the  last  of  my  six  boys,"  said  she,  "  and  you  are 
going  away  from  me  too." 

"  Now,  now,  mother,"  said  he,  "  you  must  not  make  so 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  3 

much  of  a  holiday.     You  would  not  have  me  always  at  Dare  ? 
You  know  that  no  good  comes  of  a  stay-at-home." 

She  knew  the  proverb.  Her  other  sons  had  not  been 
stay-at-homes.     What  had  come  to  them  ! 

Of  Sholto,  the  eldest,  the  traveller,  the  dare-devil,  the 
grave  is  unknown ;  but  the  story  of  how  he  met  his  death,  in 
far  Arizona,  came  years  after  to  England  and  to  Castle  Dare. 
He  sold  his  life  dearly,  as  became  one  of  his  race  and  name. 
When  his  cowardly  attendants  found  a  band  of  twenty 
Apaches  riding  down  on  them,  they  unhitched  the  mules  and 
galloped  off,  leaving  him  to  confront  the  savages  by  himself. 
One  of  these,  more  courageous  than  his  fellows,  advanced 
and  drew  his  arrow  to  the  barb  ;  the  next  second  he  uttered 
a  yell,  and  rolled  from  his  saddle  to  the  ground,  shot  through 
the  heart.  Macleod  seized  this  instant,  when  the  savages 
were  terror-stricken  by  the  precision  of  the  white  man's 
weapons,  to  retreat  a  few  yards  and  get  behind  a  mesquit- 
tree.  Here  he  was  pretty  well  sheltered  from  the  arrows  that 
they  sent  in  clouds  about  him,  while  he  succeeded  in  kill- 
ing other  two  of  his  enemies  who  had  ventured  to  approach. 
At  last  they  rode  off :  and  it  seemed  as  though  he  would  be 
permitted  to  rejoin  his  dastardly  comrades.  But  the  Indians 
had  only  gone  to  windward  to  set  the  tall  grass  on  fire  ;  and 
presently  he  had  to  scramble,  burned  and  blinded,  up  the 
tree,  where  he  was  an  easy  mark  for  their  arrows.  Fortu- 
nately, when  he  fell  he  was  dead.  This  was  the  story  told 
by  some  friendly  Indians  to  a  party  of  white  men,  and  subse- 
quently brought  home  to  Castle  Dare. 

The  next  four  of  the  sons  of  Dare  were  soldiers,  as  most 
of  the  Macleods  of  that  family  had  been.  And  if  you  ask 
about  the  graves  of  Roderick  and  Ronald,  what  is  one  to  say  ? 
They  are  known,  and  yet  unknown.  The  two  lads  were  "  in 
one  of  the  Highland  regiments  that  served  in  the  Crimea,, 
They  both  lie  buried  on  the  bleak  plains  outside  Sevastopol. 
And  if  the  memorial  stones  put  up  to  them  and  their  brothei 
officers  are  falling  into  ruin  and  decay — if  the  very  graves 
have  been  rifled — how  is  England  to  help  that  ?  England  is 
the  poorest  country  in  the  world.  There  was  a  talk  some 
tv/o  or  three  years  ago  of  putting  up  a  monument  on  Cath- 
cart  Hill  to  the  Englishmen  who  died  in  the  Crimea ;  and 
that  at  least  would  have  been  some  token  of  remem- 
brance, even  if  we  could  not  collect  the  scattered  remains  of 
our  slain  sons,  as  the  French  have  done,  but  then  that  mon 
ument  would  have  cost  ;^Sooo.     How  could  England  afford 


4  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

;^5ooo  ?  When  a  big  American  city  takes  fire,  or  when  a  dis- 
trict in  France  is  inundated,  she  can  put  her  hand  into  hei 
pocket  deeply  enough  ;  but  how  can  we  expect  so  proud  a 
mother  to  think  twice  about  her  children  who  perished  in 
fighting  for  her  ?  Happily  the  dead  are  independent  of  for- 
getfulness. 

Duncan  the  Fair-haired — Donacha  Ban,  they  called  him, 
far  and  wide  among  the  hills —  lies  buried  in  a  jungle  on  the 
African  coast.  He  was  only  twenty-three  when  he  was  killed  : 
but  he  knew  he  had  got  the  Victoria  Cross.  As  he  lay  dy- 
ing, he  asked  whether  the  people  in  England  would  send  it 
to  his  mother,  showing  that  his  last  fancies  were  still  about 
Castle  Dare. 

And  Hector  ?  As  you  cross  the  river  at  Sadowa,  and  pass 
through  a  bit  of  forest,  some  cornfields  begin  to  appear,  and 
these  stretch  away  up  to  the  heights  of  Chlum.  Along  the 
ridge  there,  by  the  side  of  the  wood,  are  many  mounds  of 
earth.  Over  the  grave  of  Hector  Macleod  is  no  proud  and 
pathetic  inscription  such  as  marks  the  last  resting-place  of  a 
young  lieutenant  who  perished  at  Gravelotte — Er  ruht  soft 
in  wiedei-erkampfter  deutscher  Erde — but  the  young  Highland 
officer  was  well  beloved  by  his  comrades,  and  when  the  dead 
were  being  pitched  into  the  great  holes  dug  for  them,  and 
when  rude  hands  were  preparing  the  simple  record,  painted 
on  a  wooden  cross — ^'Hierliegm — tapfere  Krieger" — a  separate 
memento  was  placed  over  the  grave  of  Under-lieutenant  Hec- 
tor Macleod  of  the th  Imperial  and  Royal  Cavalry  Regi- 
ment. He  was  one  of  the  two  sons  who  had  not  inherited 
the  title.  Was  it  not  a  proud  boast  for  this  white-haired  lady 
in  Mull  that  she  had  been  the  mother  of  four  baronets? 
What  other  mother  in  all  the  land  could  say  as  much  ?  And 
yet  it  was  that  that  had  dimmed  and  saddened  the  beautiful 
eyes. 

And  now  her  youngest — her  Benjamin,  her  best-beloved 
— he  was  going  away  from  her  too.  It  was  not  enough  that 
the  big  deer  forest,  the  last  of  the  possessions  of  the  Mac- 
leods  of  Dare,  had  been  kept  intact  for  him,  when  the  letting 
of  it  to  a  rich  Englishman  would  greatly  have  helped  the  fail- 
ing fortunes  of  the  family  ;  it  was  not  enough  that  the  poor 
people  about,  knowing  Lady  Macleod's  wishes,  had  no 
thought  of  keeping  a  salmon  spear  hidden  in  the  thatch  of 
their  cottages.  Salmon  and  stag  could  no  longer  bind  him 
to  the  place.     The  young  blood  stirred.    And  when  he  asked 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  5 

her  what  good  things  came  of  being  a  stay-at-home,  what 
could  she  say  ? 

Suddenly  old  Hamish  threw  wide  the  oaken  doors  at  the 
end  of  the  hall,  and  there  was  a  low  roar  like  the  roaring  of 
lions.  And  then  a  young  lad,  with  the  pipes  proudly  perched 
on  his  shoulder,  marched  in  with  a  stately  step,  and  joyous 
and  shrill  arose  the  Salute.  Three  times  he  marched  round 
the  long  and  narrow  hall,  finishing  behind  Keith  Macleod's 
chair.     The  young  man  turned  to  him. 

"  It  was  well  played,  Donald,"  said  he,  in  the  Gaelic  ; 
"  and  I  will  tell  you  that  the  Skye  College  in  the  old  times 
never  turned  out  a  better  pupil.  And  will  you  take  a  glass 
of  whiskey  now,  or  a  glass  of  claret  ?  And  it  is  a  great  pity 
your  hair  is  red,  or  they  would  call  you  Donull  Dubh,  and 
people  would  say  you  were  the  born  successor  of  the  last  of 
the  MacCruimins." 

At  this  praise — imagine  telling  a  piper  lad  that  he  was  a 
fit  successor  of  the  MacCruimins,  the  hereditary  pipers  of  the 
Macleods — the  young  stripling  blushed  hot ;  but  he  did  not 
forget  his  professional  dignity  for  all  that.  And  he  was  so 
proud  of  his  good  English  that  he  replied  in  that  tongue. 

"  I  will  take  a  glass  of  the  claret  wine,  Sir  Keith,"  said 
he. 

Young  Macleod  took  up  a  horn  tumbler,  rimmed  with 
silver,  and  having  the  triple-towered  castle  of  the  Macleods 
engraved  on  it,  and  filled  it  with  wine.  He  handed  it  to  the 
lad. 

"  I  drink  your  health.  Lady  Macleod,"  said  he,  when  he 
had  removed  his  cap  ;  "  and  I  drink  your  health.  Miss  Mac- 
leod ;  and  I  drink  your  health.  Sir  Keith  ;  and  I  would  have 
a  lighter  heart  this  night  if  1  was  going  with  you  away  to 
England." 

It  was  a  bold  demand. 

"  I  cannot  take  you  with  me,  Donald  ;  the  Macleods  have 
got  out  of  the  way  of  taking  their  piper  with  them  now.  You 
^  must  stay  and  look  after  the  dogs." 

"  But  you  are  taking  Oscar  with  you.  Sir  Keith." 

"  Yes,  I  am.  I  must  make  sure  of  having  one  friend  with 
me  m  the  south." 

"  And  I  think  I  would  be  better  than  a  collie,"  muttered 
the  lad  to  himself,  as  he  moved  off  in  a  proud  and  hurt  way 
toward  the  door,  his  cap  still  in  his  hand. 

And  now  a  great  silence  fell  over  these  three  ;  and  Janet 
^.lacleod  looked  anxiously  toward  the  old  lady,  who  sat  un 


6  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

moved  in  the  face  of  the  ordeal  through  which  she  knew  she 
must  pass.  It  was  an  old  custom  that  each  night  a  pibroch 
should  be  played  in  Castle  Dare  in  remembrance  of  her  five 
slain  sons  ;  and  yet  on  this  one  night  her  niece  would  fain 
have  seen  that  custom  abandoned.  For  was  not  the  pibroch 
the  famous  and  pathetic  "  Cumhadhna  Cloinne,"  the  Lament 
for  the  Children,  that  Patrick  Mor,  one  of  the  pipers  of  Mac- 
leod  of  Skye,  had  composed  to  the  memory  of  his  seven  sons, 
who  had  all  died  within  one  year  ?  And  now  the  doors  were 
opened,  and  the  piper  boy  once  more  entered.  The  wild,  sad 
wail  arose  :  and  slow  and  solemn  was  the  step  with  which  he 
walked  up  the  hall.  Lady  Macleod  sat  calm  and  erect,  her 
lips  proud  and  firm,  but  her  lean  hands  were  working  ner- 
vously together ;  and  at  last,  when  the  doors  were  closed  ou 
the  slow  and  stately  and  mournful  Lament  for  the  Children, 
she  bent  down  the  silvery  head  on  those  wrinkled  hands  and 
wept  aloud.  Patrick  Mor's  seven  brave  sons  could  have 
been  no  more  to  him  than  her  six  tall  lads  had  been  to  her ; 
and  now  the  last  of  them  was  going  away  from  her. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Janet,  quickly,  to  her  cousin  across 
the  table,  "  that  it  is  said  no  piper  in  the  West  Highlands  can 
play  'Lord  Lovat's  Lament'  like  our  Donald  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  he  plays  it  very  well ;  and  he  has  got  a  good 
step,"  Macleod  said.  "  But  you  will  tell  him  to  play  no  more 
Laments  to-night.  Let  him  take  to  strathspeys  if  any  of  the 
lads  come  up  after  bringing  back  the  boat.  It  will  be  time 
enough  for  him  to  make  a  Lament  for  me  when  I  am  dead. 
Come,  mother,  have  you  no  message  for  Norman  Ogilvie  ?  " 

The  old  lady  had  nerved  herself  again,  though  her  hands 
were  still  trembling. 

"  I  hope  he  will  come  back  with  you,  Keith,"  she  said. 

"  For  the  shooting  ?  No,  no,  mother.  He  was  not  fit  for 
the  shooting  about  here  :  I  have  seen  that  long  ago.  Do  you 
think  he  could  lie  for  an  hour  in  a  wet  bog  ?  It  was  up  at 
Fort  William  I  saw  him  last  year,  and  I  said  to  him,  '  Do  you 
wear  gloves  at  Aldershot  ? '  His  hands  were  as  white  as  the 
hands  of  a  woman." 

"  It  is  no  w^oman's  hand  you  have,  Keith,"  his  cousin 
said  ;  "  it  is  a  soldiers  hand." 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  with  his  face  flushing,  "  and  if  I  had  had 
Norman  Ogilvie's  chance — " 

But  he  paused.  Could  he  reproach  this  old  dame,  on 
the  very  night  of  his  departure,  with  having  disappointed  all 
those  dreams  of  military  service  and  glory  that  are  almost  the 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  7 

natural  inheritance  of  a  Macleod  of  the  Western  Highlands  ? 
If  he  was  a  stay-at-home,  at  least  his  hands  were  not  white. 
And  yet,  when  young  Ogiivie  and  he  studied  under  the  same 
tutor — the  poor  man  had  to  travel  eighteen  miles  between 
the  two  houses,  many  a  time  in  hard  weather — all  the  talk 
and  aspirations  of  the  boys  were  about  a  soldier's  life ; 
and  Macleod  could  show  his  friend  the  various  trophies,  and 
curiosities  sent  home  by  his  elder  brothers  from  all  parts  of 
the  world.  And  now  the  lily-fingered  and  gentle-natured 
Og'lvie  was  at  Aldershot ;  while  he — what  else  was  he  than 
a  mere  deer-stalker  and  salmon-killer  ? 

"  Ogiivie  has  been  very  kind  to  me,  mother,"  he  said, 
laughing.  "  He  has  sent  me  a  list  of  places  in  London 
where  I  am  to  get  my  clothes,  and  boots,  and  a  hat ;  and  by 
the  time  I  have  done  that,  he  will  be  up  from  Aldershot,  and 
will  lead  me  about — with  a  string  round  my  neck,  I  suppose, 
lest  I  should  bite  somebody." 

"  You  could  not  go  better  to  London  than  in  your  own 
tartan,"  said  the  proud  mother ;  "  and  it  is  not  for  an  Ogiivie 
to  say  how  a  Macleod  should  be  dressed.  But  it  is  no  matter, 
one  after  the  other  has  gone ;  the  house  is  left  empty  at 
last.  And  they  all  went  away  like  you,  with  a  laugh  on  their 
face.  It  was  but  a  trip,  a  holiday,  they  said  :  they  would 
soon  be  back  to  Dare.     And  where  are  they  this  night  ? " 

Old  Hamish  came  in. 

"  It  will  be  time  for  the  boat  now.  Sir  Keith,  and  the 
men  are  down  at  the  shore." 

He  rose,  the  handsome  young  fellow,  and  took  his  broad, 
blue  bonnet  with  the  badge  of  juniper. 

"  Good-by,  cousin  Janet,"  said  he,  lightly.  "  Good-by, 
mother.  You  are  not  going  to  send  me  away  in  this  sad 
fashion  ?  What  am  I  to  bring  you  back — a  satin  gown  from 
Paris  ?  or  a  young  bride  to  cheer  up  the  old  house  ?  " 

She  took  no  heed  of  the  passing  jest.  He  kissed  her, 
and  bade  her  good-by  once  more.  The  clear  stars  were 
shining  over  Castle  Dare,  and  over  the  black  shadows  of  the 
mountains,  and  the  smoothly  swelling  waters  of  the  Atlantic. 
There  was  a  dull  booming  of  the  waves  along  the  rocks. 

He  had  thrown  his  plaid  round  him,  and  he  was  wondei 
ing  to  himself  as  he  descended  the  steep  path  to  the  shore. 
He  could  not  believe  that  the  t^vo  women  were  really  sad- 
dened by  his  going  to  the  south  for  awhile  ;  he  was  not 
given  to  forebodings.  And  he  had  nearly  reached  the  shore, 
when  he  was  overtaken  by  some  one  running,  with  a  light 


8  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

Step  behind  him.  He  turned  quickly,  and  found  his  cousm  be- 
fore him,  a  shawl  thrown  round  her  head  and  shoulders. 

"Oh,  Keith,"  said  she,  in  a  bright  and  matter-of-fact 
way,  *'  I  have  a  message  for  you — from  myself — and  I  did 
not  want  aunt  to  hear,  for  she  is  very  proud,  you  know,  and 
I  hope  you  won't  be.  You  know  we  are  all  very  poor,  Keith  ; 
and  yet  you  m.ust  not  want  money  in  London,  if  only  for  the 
sake  of  the  family ;  and  you  know  I  have  a  little,  Keith,  and 
I  want  you  to  take  it.  You  won't  mind  my  being  frank  v/ith 
you.     I  have  written  a  letter.'' 

She  had  the  envelope  in  her  hand. 

"  And  if  I  would  take  money  from  any  one,  it  would  be 
from  you,  Cousin  Janet ;  but  I  am  not  so  selfish  as  that.  What 
would  all  the  poor  people  do  if  I  were  to  take  your  money 
to  London  and  spend  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  kept  a  little,"  said  she,  "  and  it  is  not  much  that 
is  needed.  It  is  ;^2ooo  I  would  like  you  to  take  from  me, 
Keith.     I  have  written  a  letter." 

"Why,  bless  me,  Janet,  that  is  nearly  all   the   money 
you've  got ! " 
"  I  know  it." 

"  Well,  I  may  not  be  able  to  earn  any  money  for  myself, 
but  at  least  I  would  not  think  of  squandering  your  little  for- 
tune. No,  no  ;  but  I  thank  you  all  the  same,  Janet ;  and  I 
know  that  it  is  with  a  free  heart  that  you  offer  it." 

"  But  this  is  a  favor,  Keith,"  said  she.  "  I  do  not  ask 
you,  to  spend  the  money.  But  you  might  be  in  trouble  ;  and 
you  would  be  too  proud  to  ask  any  one — perhaps  you  would 
not  even  ask  me  ;  and  here  is  a  letter  that  you  can  keep  till 
then,  and  if  you  should  want  the  money,  you  can  open  the 
letter,  and  it  will  tell  you  how  to  get  it." 

"And  it  is  a  poor  forecast  you  are  making,  Cousin  Janet," 
said  he,  cheerfully.  "  I  am  to  play  the  prodigal  son,  then  \ 
But  I  will  take  the  letter.  And  good-bye  again,  Janet ;  and 
God  bless  you,  for  you  are  a  kind-hearted  woman." 

She  went  swiftly  up  to  Castle  Dare  again,  and  he 
walked  on  toward  the  shore.  By-and-by  he  reached  a  small 
stone  pier  that  ran  out  among  some  rocks,  and  by  the  side 
of  it  lay  a  small  sailing  launch,  with  four  men  in  her,  and 
Donald  the  piper  boy  perched  up  at  the  bow.  There  was  a 
lamp  swinging  at  her  mast,  but  she  had  no  sail  up,for  there 
was  scarcely  any  wind. 

"  Is  it  time  to  go  out  now  ? "  said  Macleod  to  Hamish 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  9 

who   stood  waiting  on  the  pier,  having  carried   down  his 
master's  portmanteau. 

"  Ay,  it  will  be  time  now,  even  if  you  will  wait  a  little," 
said  Hamish.  And  then  the  old  man  added,  "It  is  a  dark 
night.  Sir  Keith,  for  your  going  away  from  Castle  Dare." 

"  And  it  will  be  the  brighter  morning  when  I  come  back,** 
answered  the  young  man,  for  he  could  not  mistake  the  inten 
tion  of  the  words. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Sir  Keith ;  and  now  you  will  go  into  the 
boat,  and  you  will  lake  care  of  your  footing,  for  the  night  is 
dark,  and  the  rocks  ihey  are  always  slippery  whatever." 

But  Keith  Macleod's  foot  was  as  familiar  with  the  soft 
seaweed  of  the  rocks  as  it  was  with  the  hard  heather  of  the 
hills,  and  he  found  no  difficulty  in  getting  into  the  broad' 
beamed  boat.  The  men  put  out  their  oars  and  pushed  her 
oif.  And  now,  in  the  dark  night,  the  skirl  cf  the  pipes  rose 
again  ;  and  it  was  no  stately  and  mournful  lament  that  young 
Donald  played  up  there  at  the  bow  as  the  four  oars  struck 
the  sea  and  sent  a  flash  of  white  fire  doAvn  into  the  deeps. 

"  Donald,"  Hamish  had  said  to  him  on  the  shore,  "  when 
you  are  going  out  to  the  steamer,  it  is  the  '  Seventy-ninth's 
Farewell  to  Chubralter  '  that  you  will  play,  and  you  will  play 
no  other  thing  than  that." 

And  surely  the  Seventy-ninth  were  not  sorry  to  leave 
Gibraltar  when  their  piper  composed  for  them  so  glad  a  fare- 
well. 

At  the  high  windows  of  Castle  Dare  the  mother  stood,  and 
her  niece,  and  as  they  watched  the  yellow  lamp  move  slowly 
out  from  the  black  shore,  they  heard  this  proud  and  joyous 
march  that  Donald  was  playing  to  herald  the  approach  of  his 
master.  They  listened  to  it  as  it  grew  fainter  and  fainter, 
and  as  the  small  yellow  star  trembling  over  the  dark  waters 
became  more  and  more  remote.  And  then  this  other  sound 
— this  blowing  of  a  steam  whistle  far  away  in  the  darkness  ? 

"  He  will  be  in  good  time,  aunt ;  she  is  a  long  way  oif 
yet,"  said  Janet  Macleod.     But  the  mother  did  not  speak. 

Out  there  on  the  dark  and  moving  waters  the  great 
steamer  was  slowly  drawing  near  the  open  boat ;  and  as  she 
came  up,  the  vast  hull  of  her,  seen  against  the  starlit  sky, 
seemed  a  mountain. 

"  Now,  Donald,"  Macleod  called  out,  "  you  will  take  the 
dog — here  is  the  string  ;  and  you  will  see  he  does  not  spring 
into  the  water." 

"  Yes,  I  will  take   the   dog,"  muttered  the  boy,  half  to 


lo  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

himself.     "  Oh  yes,  I  will  take  the  dog ;  but  it  is  better  if  I 
was  going  with  you,  Sir  Keith,  than  any  dog." 

A  rope  was  thrown  out,  the  boat  dragged  up  to  the  side 
of  the  steamer,  the  small  gangway  let  down,  and  presently 
Macleod  was  on  the  deck  of  the  large  vessel.  Then  Oscar 
was  hauled  up  too,  and  the  rope  flung  loose,  and  the  boat 
drifted  away  into  the  darkness.  But  the  last  good-bye  had 
not  been  said,  for  over  the  black  waters  came  the  sound  of 
pipes  once  more,  the  melancholy  wail  of  "  Macintosh's 
Lament." 

"  Confound  that  obstinate  brat !  "  Macleod  said  to  him- 
self. "  Now  he  will  go  back  to  Castle  Dare  and  make  the 
women  miserable." 

"  The  captain  is  below  at  his  supper.  Sir  Keith,"  said  the 
mate.     "  Will  you  go  down  to  him  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  will  go  down  to  him,"  said  he  ;  and  he  made  his 
way  along  the  deck  of  the  steamer. 

He  was  arrested  by  the  sound  of  some  one  crying,  and  he 
looked  down,  and  found  a  woman  crouched  under  the  bul- 
warks, with  two  small  children  asleep  on  her  knee. 

"  My  good  woman,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  said 
he. 

"  The  night  is  cold,"  she  said  in  the  Gaelic,  "  and  my 
children  are  cold  ;  and  it  is  a  long  way  that  we  are  going." 

He  answered  her  in  her  own  tongue. 

"  You  will  be  warmer  if  you  go  below ;  but  here  is  a  plaid 
for  you,  anyway ; "  and  with  that  he  took  the  plaid  from 
round  his  shoulders  and  flung  it  across  the  children,  and 
passed  on. 

That  was  the  way  of  the  Macleods  of  Dare.  They  had  a 
royal  manner  with  them.  Perhaps  that  was  the  reason  that 
their  revenues  were  now  far  from  royal. 

And  meanwhile  the  red  light  still  burned  in  the  high  win- 
dows of  Castle  Dare,  and  two  women  were  there  looking  out 
on  the  pale  stars  and  the  dark  sea  beneath.  They  waited 
until  they  heard  the  plashing  of  oars  in  the  small  bay  below, 
and  the  message  was  brought  them  that  Sir  Keith  had  got 
safely  on  board  the  great  steamer.  Then  they  turned  away 
fiom  the  silent  and  empty  night,  and  one  of  them  was  weep 
ing  bitterly. 

"  It  is  the  last  of  my  six  sons  that  has  gone  from  me,"  she 
said,  coming  back  to  the  old  refrain,  and  refusing  to  be  com- 
forted. 

"  And  I   have  lost  my  brother,"  said  Janet  Macleod,  in 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  n 

her  simple  v/ay.     "  But  he  will  came  back  to  us,  auntie  ;  and 
then  we  shall  have  great  doings  at  Castle  Dare." 


CHAPTER  II. 

MENTOR. 

It  was  with  a  wholly  indescribable  surprise  and  delight 
that  Macleod  came  upon  the  life  and  stir  and  gayety  of  Lon- 
don in  the  sweet  June  time,  when  the  parks  and  gardens  and 
squares  would  of  themselves  have  been  a  sufficient  wonder  to 
him.  The  change  from  the  sombre  shores  of  lochs  Na  Keal, 
and  lua,  and  Scridain  to  this  world  of  sunlit  foliage — the 
golden  yellow  of  the  laburnum,  the  cream-white  of  the  chest- 
nuts, the  rose-pink  of  the  red  hawthorn,  and  everywhere  the 
keen,  translucent  green  of  the  young  lime-trees — was  enough 
to  fill  the  heart  with  joy  and  gladness,  though  he  had  been 
no  diligent  student  of  landscape  and  color.  The  fev/  days 
he  had  to  spend  by  himself — while  getting  properly  dressed 
to  satisfy  the  demands  of  his  friend — passed  quickly  enough. 
He  was  not  at  all  ashamed  of  his  country-made  clothes  as  he 
watched  the  whirl  of  carriages  in  Piccadilly,  or  lounged  under 
the  elms  at  Hyde  Park,  with  his  beautiful  silver-white  and 
lemon-colored  collie  attracting  the  admiration  of  every  pass- 
er-b3^  Nor  had  he  waited  for  the  permission  of  Lieutenant 
Ogilvie  to  make  his  entrance  into,  at  least,  one  little  corner 
of  societ}^  He  was  recognized  in  St.  James's  Street  one 
morning  by  a  noble  lady  whom  he  had  met  once  or  twice  at 
Inverness  ;  and  she,  having  stopped  her  carriage,  was  pleased 
to  ask  him  to  lunch  with  herself  and  her  husband  next  day. 
To  the  great  grief  cf  Oscar,  who  had  to  be  shut  up  by  himself, 
Macleod  went  up  rext  day  to  Brook  Street,  and  there  mxt 
several  people  whcse  names  he  knew  as  representatives  of 
old  Highland  families,  but  v/ho  were  very  English,  as  it 
seemed  to  him,  in  their  speech  and  ways.  He  was  rather 
petted,  for  he  was  a  handsome  lad,  and  he  had  high  spirits 
and  a  proud  air.  And  his  hostess  was  so  kind  as  to  mention 
that  the  Caledonian  Ball  was  coming  off  on  the  25th,  and  of 
course  he  must  come,  in  the  Highland  costume ;  and  as  she 
was  one  of  the  patronesses,  should  she  give  him  a  voucher? 


12  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

Macleod  answered,  laughingly,  that  he  would  be  glad  to  have 
it,  though  he  did  not  know  what  it  was  ;  whereupon  she  was 
pleased  to  say  that  no  wonder  he  laughed  at  the  notion  of  a 
voucher  being  wanted  for  any  Macleod  of  Dare. 

One  morning  a  good-looking  and  slim  young  man 
knocked  at  the  door  of  a  small  house  in  Bur}'  Street,  St. 
James's,  and  asked  if  Sir  Keith  Macleod  was  at  home.  The 
man  said  he  was,  and  the  young  gentleman  entered.  He 
was  a  most  correctly  dressed  person.  His  hat,  and  gloves, 
and  cane,  and  long-tailed  frock-coat  were  all  beautiful  ;  but  it 
was,  perhaps,  the  tightness  of  his  nether  garments,  or,  per- 
haps, the  tightness  of  his  brilliantly-polished  boots  (which 
were  partially  covered  by  white  gaiters),  that  made  him  go 
up  the  narrow  little  stairs  with  some  precision  of  caution. 
The  door  was  opened  and  he  was  announced. 

"  My  dear  old  boy,"  said  he,  "  how  do  you  do  ?  "  and 
Macleod  gave  him  a  grip  of  the  hand  that  nearly  burst  one 
of  his  gloves. 

But  at  this  moment  an  awful  accident  occurred.  From 
behind  the  door  of  the  adjacent  bedroom,  Oscar,  the  collie, 
sprang  forward  with  an  angry  growl ;  then  he  seemed  to  re- 
cognize the  situation  of  affairs,  when  he  saw  his  master  hold- 
ing the  stranger's  hand  ;  then  he  began  to  wag  his  tail  ;  then 
he  jumped  up  with  his  fore-paws  to  give  a  kindly  welcome. 

"  Hang  it  all,  Macleod  ! "  young  Ogilvie  cried,  with  all 
the  starch  gone  out  of  his  manner;  "your  dog's  all  wet? 
What's  the  use  of  keeping  a  brute  like  that  about  the  place  ?  " 

Alas  !  the  beautiful,  brilliant  boots  were  all  besmeared, 
and  the  white  gaiters  too,  and  the  horsey-looking  nether  gar- 
ments. Moreover,  the  Highland  savage,  so  far  from  betray 
ing  compunction,  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  he  cried,  "  I  put  him  in  my  bedroom 
to  dry.  I  couldn't  do  more,  could  I  ?  He  has  just  been 
in  the  Serpentine." 

"  I  wish  he  was  there  now,  with  a  stone  and  a  string  round 
his  neck  !"  observed  Lieutenant  Ogilvie,  looking  at  his  boots  ; 
but  he  repented  him  of  this  rash  saying,  for  within  a  week  he 
had  offered  Macleod  ;^2o  for  the  dog.  He  might  have 
offered  twenty  dozen  of  ;^2o,  and  thrown  his  polished  boots 
and  his  gaiters  too  into  the  bargain,  and  he  would  have  had 
the  same  answer. 

Oscar  was  once  more  banished  into  the  bedroom  ;  and 
Mr.  Ogilvie  sat  down,  pretending  to  take  no  more  notice  of 
bis  boots.     Macleod  put    some  sherry  on  the   table,  and   a 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  13 

handful  of  cigars  ;  his  friend  asked  whether  he  could  not  have 
a  glass  of  seltzer-water  and  a  cigarette. 

"  And  how  do  you  like  the  rooms  I  got  for  you  ? " 

"There  is  not  much  fresh  air  about  them,  nor  in  this 
narrow  street,"  Macleod  said,  frankly  ;  "  but  that  is  no  matter 
for  I  have  been  out  all  day — all  over  London." 

"  I  thought  the  price  was  as  high  as  you  would  care  to 
go,"  Ogilvie  said  ;  "  but  I  forgot  you  had  come  fresh  up,  with 
your  pocket  full  of  money.  If  you  would  like  something  a 
trifle  more  princely,  I'll  put  you  up  to  it." 

"  And  where  have  I  got  the  money  1  There  are  no  gold 
mines  in  the  west  of  Mull.     It  is  you  who  are  Fortunatus." 

"  By  Jove,  if  you  knew  how  hard  a  fellow  is  run  at  Alder- 
shot,"  Mr.  Ogilvie  remarked,  confidentially,  "  you  would 
scarcely  believe  it.  Every  new  batch  of  fellows  who  come 
in  have  to  be  dined  all  round ;  and  the  mess  bills  are  simply 
awful.  It's  getting  worse  and  worse  ;  and  then  these  big 
drinks  put  one  off  one's  work  so." 

"  You  are  studying  hard,  I  suppose,"  Macleod  said,  quite 
gravely. 

"  Pretty  well,"  said  he,  stretching  out  his  legs,  and  petting 
his  pretty  mustache  with  his  beautiful  white  hand.  Then  he 
added,  suddenly,  surveying  the  brown-faced  and  stalwart 
young  fellow  before  him,  "  By  Jove,  Macleod,  I'm  glad  to 
see  you  in  London.  It's  like  a  breath  of  mountain  air.  Don't 
jl  remember  the  awful  mornings  we've  had  together — the  rain 
.and  the  mist  and  the  creeping  through  the  bogs  ?  I  believe 
you  did  your  best  to  kill  me.  If  I  hadn't  had  the  constitu- 
tion of  a  horse,  I  should  have  been  killed." 

"  I  should  say  your  big  drinks  at  Aldershot  were  more 
likely  to  kill  you  than  going  after  the  deer,"  said  Macleod, 
"  And  will  you  come  up  with  me  this  autumn,  Ogilvie  t  The 
mother  will  be  glad  to  see  you,  and  Janet,  too  ;  though  we 
haven't  got  any  fine  young  ladies  for  you  to  make  love  to, 
unless  you  go  up  to  Fort  William,  or  Fort  George,  or  Inver- 
ness. And  I  was  all  over  the  moors  before  I  came  away ; 
and  if  there  is  anything  like  good  weather,  we  shall  have 
plenty  of  birds  this  year,  for  I  never  saw  before  such  a  big 
average  of  eggs  in  the  nests." 

"  I  wonder  you  don't  let  part  of  that  shooting,"  said  young 
Ogilvie,  who  knew  well  of  the  straitened  circumstances  of 
the  Macleods  of  Dare. 

"  The  mother  won't  have  it  done,"  said  Macleod,  quite 
simply,  "for  she  thinks  it  keeps  me  at  home.     But  a  young 


14 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


man  cannot  always  stay  at  home.  It  is  very  good  for  you, 
Ogilvie,  that  you  have  brothers." 

"  Yes,  if  I  liadbeen  the  eldest  of  them,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvie 
"  It  is  a  capital  thing  to  have  younger  brothers  ;  it  isn't  half 
so  pleasant  when  you  are  the  younger  brother." 

"  And  will  you  come  up,  then,  and  bury  yourself  alive  at 
Dare  ? " 

"  It  is  awfully  good  of  you  to  ask  me,  Macleod ;  and  if  I 
can  manage  it,  I  will ;  but  I  am  afraid  there  isn't  much 
chance  this  year.  In  the  meantime,  let  me  give  you  a  hint. 
In  London  we  talk  of  going  down  to  the  Highlands." 

"  Oh,  do  you  ?  I  did  not  think  you  were  so  stupid," 
Macleod  remarked. 

"  Why,  of  course  we  do.  You  speak  of  going  up  to  the 
capital  of  a  country,  and  of  going  down  to  the  provinces." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right — no  doubt  you  are  right ;  but  it 
sounds  stupid,"  the  unconvinced  Highlander  observed  again. 
"  It  sounds  stupid  to  say  going  up  to  the  south,  and  going 
down  to  the  north.  And  how  can  you  go  down  to  the  High- 
lands ?  you  might  go  down  to  the  Lowlands.  But  no  doubt 
you  are  right ;  and  I  will  be  more  particular.  And  will  you 
have  another  cigarette  ?  and  then  we  will  go  out  for  a  walk, 
and  Oscar  will  get  drier  in  the  street  than  indoors." 

"  Don't  imagine  I  am  going  out  to  have  that  dog  plung- 
ing about  among  my  feet,"  said  Ogilvie.  "  But  I  have  some- 
thing else  for  you  to  do.  You  know  Colonel  Ross  of  Dun- 
torme." 

"  I  have  heard  of  him." 

"  His  wife  is  an  awfully  nice  woman,  and  would  like  to 
meet  you.  I  fancy  they  think  of  buying  some  property — I 
am  not  sure  it  isn't  an  island — in  your  part  of  the  country ; 
and  she  has  never  been  to  the  Highlands  at  all.  I  was  to 
take  you  down  with  me  to  lunch  with  her  at  two,  if  you  care 
to  go.     There  is  her  card." 

Macleod  looked  at  the  card. 

"  How  far  is  Prince's  Gate  from  here  ? "  he  asked. 

"  A  mile  and  a  half,  I  should  say." 

"  And  it  is  now  twenty  minutes  to  two,"  said  he,  rising. 
"  It  will  be  a  nice  smart  walk." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvie  ;  "  if  it  is  all  the  same  to 
you,  we  will  perform  the  journey  in  a  hansom.  I  am  not  in 
training  just  at  present  for  your  tramps  to  Ben-an-Sloich." 

"  Ah !  your  boots  are  rather  tight,"  said  Macleod,  with 
grave  sympathy. 


^  MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  15 

They  got  into  a  hansom,  and  went  spinning  along  through 
the  crowd  of  carriages  on  this  brilliant  morning.  The  busy 
streets,  the  handsome  women,  the  fine  buildings,  the  bright 
and  beautiful  foliage  of  the  parks — all  these  were  a  peipetual 
wonder  and  delight  to  the  new-comer,  who  was  as  eager  in 
the  enjoyment  of  this  gay  world  of  pleasure  and  activity  as 
any  girl  come  up  for  her  first  season.  Perhaps  this  notion 
occurred  to  the  astute  and  experienced  Lieutenant  Ogilvie, 
who  considered  it  his  duty  to  warn  his  youthful  and  ingenuous 
friend. 

"  Mrs.  Ross  is  a  very  handsome  woman,"  he  remarked. 

''  Indeed." 

"  And  uncommonly  fascinating,  too,  when  she  likes." 

"  Really." 

"  You  had  better  look  out,  if  she  tries  to  fascinate  you." 

"  She  is  a  rfiarried  woman,"  said  Macleod. 

"  They  are  always  the  worst,"  said  this  wise  person  ;  "  for 
they  are  jealous  of  the  younger  women." 

"  Oh,  that  is  all  nonsense,"  said  Macleod,  bluntly.  "  I 
am  not  such  a  greenhorn.  I  have  read  all  that  kind  of  talk 
in  books  and  magazines  :  it  is  ridiculous.  Do  you  think  I 
will  believe  that  married  women  have  so  little  self-respect  as 
to  make  themselves  the  laughing  stock  of  men  1  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  they  have  cart-loads  of  self-respect. 
What  I  mean  is,  that  Mrs.  Ross  is  a  bit  of  a  lion-hunter,  and 
she  may  take  a  fancy  to  make  a  lion  of  you — " 

"  That  is  better  than  to  make  an  ass  of  me,  as  you  sug- 
gested." 

"  — And  naturally  she  will  try  to  attach  you  to  her  set.  I 
don't  think  you  are  quite  outre  enough  for  her ;  perhaps  I 
made  a  mistake  in  putting  you  into  decent  clothes.  You 
wouldn't  have  time  to  get  into  your  kilts  now  ?  But  you 
must  be  prepared  to  meet  all  sorts  of  queer  folks  at  her  house, 
especially  if  you  stay  on  a  bit  and  have  some  tea — mysterious 
poets  that  nobody  ever  heard  of,  and  artists  who  won't  exhibit, 
and  awful  swells  from  the  German  universities,  and  I  don't 
know  what  besides — everybody  who  isn't  the  least  like  any- 
body else." 

"  And  what  is  your  claim,  then,  to  go  there  ?  "  Macleod 
asked. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  young  lieutenant,  laughing  at  the  home- 
thrust,  *'  I  am  only  admitted  on  sufferance,  as  a  friend  of  Col- 
onel Ross.  She  never  asked  me  to  put  my  name  in  her  auto- 
graph-book.   But  I  have  done  a  bit  of  the  jackal  for  her  once 


1 6  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

or  twice,  when  I  happened  to  be  on  leave  ;  and  she  has  sent 
me  with  people  to  her  box  at  Covent  Garden  when  she 
couldn't  go  herself." 

"And  how  am  I  to  propitiate  her  ?  What  am  I  to  do  ?  " 
"  She  will  soon  let  you  know  how  you  strike  her.  Either 
she  will  pet  you,  or  she  will  snuff  you  out  like  winking.  I 
don't  know  a  woman  who  has  a  blanker  stare,  when  she  likes.* 
This  idle  conversation  was  suddenly  interrupted.  At  the 
same  moment  both  young  men  experienced  a  sinking  sensa- 
tion, as  if  the  earth  had  been  cut  away  from  beneath  their 
feet ;  then  there  was  a  crash,  and  they  were  violently  thrown 
against  each  other;  then  they  vaguely  knew  that  the  cab, 
heeling  over,  was  being  jolted  along  the  street  by  a  runaway 
horse.  Fortunately,  the  horse  could  not  run  very  fast,  for 
the  axle-tree,  deprived  of  its  wheel,  was  tearing  at  the  road  ; 
but,  all  the  same,  the  occupants  of  the  cab  though  they  might 
as  well  get  out,  and  so  they  tried  to  force  open  the  two  small 
panels  of  the  door  in  front  of  them.  But  the  concussion  had 
so  jammed  these  together  that,  shove  at  them  as  they  might, 
they  would  not  yield.  At  this  juncture,  Macleod,  who  was 
not  accustomed  to  hansom  cabs,  and  did  not  at  all  like  this 
first  experience  of  them,  determined  to  get  out  somehow ; 
and  so  he  raised  himself  a  bit,  so  as  to  get  his  back  firm 
against  the  back  of  the  vehicle  ;  he  pulled  up  his  leg  until  his 
knee  almost  touched  his  mouth  ;  he  got  the  heel  of  his  boot 
firmly  fixed  on  the  top  edge  of  the  door  :  and  then  with  one 
forward  drive  he  tore  tlie  panel  right  away  from  its  hinges. 
The  other  was  of  course  flung  open  at  once.  Then  he  grasped 
the  brass  rail  outside,  steadied  himself  for  a  moment,  and 
jumped  clear  from  the  cab,  lighting  on  the  pavement. 
Strange  to  say,  Ogilvie  did  not  follow,  though  Macleod,  as 
he  rushed  along  to  try  to  get  hold  of  the  horse,  momentarily 
expected  to  see  him  jump  out.  His  anxiety  was  of  short 
duration.  The  axle-tree  caught  on  the  curb  ;  there  was  a 
sudden  lurch  ;  and  then,  with  a  crash  of  glass,  the  cab  went 
right  over,  throwing  down  the  horse,  and  pitching  the  driver 
into  the  street.  It  was  all  the  work  of  a  few  seconds  ;  and 
another  second  seemed  to  suffice  to  collect  a  crowd,  even  in 
:his  quiet  part  of  Kensington  Gore.  But,  after  all,  very  little 
damage  was  done,  except  to  the  horse,  which  had  cut  one  of 
its  hocks.  When  young  Mr.  Ogilvie  scrambled  out  and  got 
on  to  the  pavement,  instead  of  being  grateful  that  his  life  had 
been  spared,  he  was  in  a  towering  passion — with  whom  oi 
what  he  knew  not. 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  1 7 

"  Why  didn't  you  jump  out  ?  "  said  Macleod  to  him,  after 
seeing  that  the  cabman  was  all  right. 

Ogilvie  did  not  answer  ;  he  was  looking  at  his  besmeared 
hands  and  dishevelled  clothes. 

"  Confound  it  \  "  said  he  ;  "  what's  to  be  done  now  ?  The 
house  is  just  round  the  comer." 

"  Let  us  go  in,  and  they  will  lend  you  a  c'othesbmsh." 

"  As  if  I  had  been  fighting  a  bargee  t  No,  thank  you.  I 
will  go  along  till  I  find  some  tavern,  and  get  myself  put  to 
rights." 

And  this  he  did  gloomily,  Macleod  accompanying  him. 
It  was  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  he  had  completed 
his  toilet ;  and  then  they  set  out  to  walk  back  to  Prince's 
Gate.    Mr.  Ogilvie  was  in  a  better  humor. 

"  What  a  fellow  you  are  to  jump,  Macleod  \ "  said  he, 
**  If  you  had  cannoned  against  that  policeman  you  would  have 
killed  him.  And  you  never  paid  the  cabman  for  destroying 
the  lid  of  the  door ;  you  prized  the  thing  clean  off  its  hinges. 
You  must  have  the  strength  of  a  giant." 

"  But  where  the  people  came  from — it  w^as  that  surprised 
me,"  said  Macleod,  who  seemed  to  have  rather  enjoyed  the 
adventure.  "  It  was  like  one  of  our  sea-lochs  in  the  High 
lands — ^}^ou  look  all  round  and  cannot  find  any  gull  anywhere 
but  throw  a  biscuit  into  the  water,  and  you  will  find  then  ap- 
pearing from  all  quarters  at  once.  As  for  the  door,  I  forgot 
that ;  but  I  gave  the  man  half  a  sovereign  to  console  him  for 
his  shaking.     Was  not  that  enough  ?  " 

"  We  shall  be  frightfully  late  for  luncheon,"  said  Mr.  Ogil- 
vie, with  some  concern. 


CHAPTER  III, 

FIONAGHAL. 


And,  indeed,  when  they  entered  the  house — the  balco*  ws 
and  windows  were  a  blaze  of  flowers  all  shining  in  the  sun — 
they  found  that  their  host  and  hostess  had  already  come 
downstairs,  and  were  seated  at  table  with  their  small  party 
of  guests.  This  circumstance  did  not  lesst  n  Sir  Keith  Mac- 
leod's  trepidation  ;   for  there  is  no  denying  the  fact  that  the 


1 8  MACLEOD  OB  DARE 

young  man  would  rather  have  faced  an  angry  bull  on  w  High 
land  road  than  this  party  of  people  in  the  hushed  and  semi- 
darkened  and  liower-scented  room.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
his  appearance  was  the  sigmii  for  a  confusion  that  was  equiv- 
alent to  an  earthquake,  'Iwo  or  three  servants — all  more 
solemn  than  any  clergyman — began  to  make  new  arrange- 
ments;  a  tall  lady,  benign  of  aspect,  rose  and  most  gracious- 
ly received  him  ;  a  tall  gentleman,  with  a  gray  mustache, 
shook  hands  with  him  ;  and  then,  as  he  vaguely  heard  young 
Ogilvie,  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  relate  the  incident  of 
the  upsetting  of  the  cab,  he  found  himself  seatexi  next  to  this 
benign  lady,  and  apparently  in  a  bewildering  paradise  of 
beautiful  lights  and  colors  and  delicious  odors.  Asparagus 
soup  ?  Yes,  he  would  take  that ;  but  for  a  second  or  two 
this  spacious  and  darkened  room,  with  its  stained  glass  and 
its  sombre  walls,  and  the  table  before  him,  with  its  masses 
of  roses  and  lilies-of-the-valley,  its  silver,  its  crystal,  its  nec- 
tarines, and  cherries,  and  pineapples,  seemed  some  kind  of 
enchanted  place.  And  then  the  people  talked  in  a  low  and 
hushed  fashion,  and  the  servants  moved  silently  and  mysteri- 
ously, and  the  air  was  languid  with  the  scents  of  fruits  and 
flowers.  They  gave  him  some  wine  in  a  tall  green  glass  that 
had  transparent  lizards  crawling  up  its  stem  ;  he  had  never 
drunk  out  of  a  thing  like  that  before. 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  Mr.  Ogilvie  to  get  you  to  come  ;  he 
is  a  very  good  boy  ;  he  forgets  nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Ross  to 
him ;  and  as  he  became  aware  that  she  was  a  pleasant-looking 
lady  of  middle  age,  who  regarded  him  with  very  friendly  and 
truthful  eyes,  he  vowed  to  himself  that  he  would  bring  Mr. 
Ogilvie  to  task  for  representing  this  decent  and  respectable 
V'oman  as  a  graceless  and  dangerous  coquette.  No  doubt 
she  was  the  mother  of  children.  At  her  time  of  life  she  was 
better  employed  in  the  nursery  or  in  the  kitchen  than  in  flirt- 
ing with  young  men  ;  and  could  he  doubt  that  she  was  a  good 
house-mistress  when  he  saw  with  his  own  eyes  how  spick  and 
span  everything  was,  and  how  accurately  everything  was 
served  ?  Even  if  his  cousin  Janet  lived  in  the  south,  wdth  all 
these  fine  flowers  and  hot-house  fruits  to  serve  her  purpose, 
she  could  not  have  done  better.  He  began  to  like  this 
pleasant-eyed  woman,  though  she  seemed  delicate,  and  a  trifle 
languid,  and  in  consequence  he  sometimes  could  not  quite 
make  out  what  she  said.  But  then  he  noticed  that  the  othei 
people  talked  in  this  limp  fashion  too  :  there  was  no  precision 
about  their  words  ;  frequently  they  seemed  to  leave  you  to 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  I^ 

guess  the  end  of  their  sentences.  As  for  the  youn-g  lady- 
next  him,  was  she  not  very  delicate  also  ?  He  had  never  seen 
such  hands —  so  small,  and  fine,  and  white.  And  although 
she  talked  only  to  her  neighbor  on  the  other  side  of  her,  he 
could  hear  that  her  voice,  low  and  musical  as  it  was,  was 
only  a  murmur. 

"  Miss  White  and  I,"  said  Mrs.  Ross  to  him — and  at  this 
moment  the  young  lady  turned  to  them — "  were  talking  be- 
fore you  came  in  of  the  beautiful  country  you  must  know  so 
well,  and  of  its  romantic  stories  and  associations  with  Prince 
Charlie.  Gertrude,  let  me  introduce  Sir  Keith  Macleod  to 
you.  I  told  Miss  White  you  might  come  to  us  to-day  ;  and 
she  was  saying  what  a  pity  it  was  that  Flora  Macuonald  was 
not  a  Macleod." 

"  That  was  very  kind"  said  he,  frankly,  turning  to  this  tall, 
pale  girl,  with  the  rippling  hair  of  golden  brown  and  the 
heavy-lidded  and  downcast  eyes.  And  then  he  laughed. 
"  We  would  not  like  to  steal  the  honor  from  a  woman,  even 
though  she  was  a  Macdonald,  and  you  know  the  Macdonalds 
and  the  Macleods  were  not  very  friendly  in  the  old  time. 
But  we  can  claim  something  too  about  the  escape  of  Prince 
Charlie,  Mrs.  Ross.  After  Flora  Macdonald  had  got  him 
safe  from  Harris  to  Skye,  she  handed  him  over  to  the  sons 
of  Macleod  of  Raasay,  and  it  was  owing  to  them  that  he  got 
to  the  mainland.  You  will  find  many  people  up  there  to 
this  day  who  believe  that  if  Macleod  of  Macleod  had  gone 
out  in  '45,  Prince  Charlie  would  never  have  had  to  flee  at 
all.  But  I  think  the  Macleods  had  done  enough  for  the 
Stuarts  ;  and  it  was  but  little  thanks  they  ever  got  in  return, 
so  far  as  I  could  ever  hear.  Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Ross,  my 
mother  wears  mourning  every  3d  of  September,  and  will  eat 
nothing  from  morning  till  night.  It  is  the  anniversary  of 
the  battle  of  Worcester;  and  then  the  Macleods  were  so 
smashed  up  that  for  a  long  time  the  other  clans  relieved 
them  from  military  service." 

"  You  are  not  much  of  a  Jacobite,  Sir  Keith,"  said  Mrs. 
Ross,  smiling. 

"  Only  when  I  hear  a  Jacobite  song  sung,"  said  he. 
"  Then  who  can  fail  to  be  a  Jacobite  ?  " 

He  had  become  quite  friendly  with  this  amiable  lady 
If  he  had  been  afraid  that  his  voice,  in  these  delicate  south- 
ern ears,  must  sound  like  the  first  guttral  drone  of  Donald's 
pipes  at  Castle  Dare,  he  had  speedily  lost  that  fear.  The 
manly,  sun-browned  face  and  clear-glancing  eyes  were  full  of 


20  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

animation ;  he  was  oppressed  no  longer  by  the  solemnity  of 
the  servants  ;  so  long  as  he  talked  to  her  he  was  quite  con- 
fident ;  he  had  made  friends  with  this  friendly  woman.  But 
he  had  not  as  yet  dared  to  address  the  pale  girl  who  sat  on 
his  right,  and  who  seemed  so  fragile  and  beautiful  and  dis- 
tant in  manner. 

"  After  all,"  said  he  to  Mrs.  Ross,  "  there  were  no  more 
Highlanders  killed  in  the  cause  of  the  Stuarts  than  used  to 
be  killed  every  year  or  two  merely  out  of  the  quarrels  of  the 
clans  among  themselves.  All  about  where  I  live  there  is 
scarcely  a  rock,  or  a  loch,  or  an  island  that  has  not  its  story. 
And  I  think,"  added  he,  with  a  becoming  modesty,  "  that 
the  Macleods  were  by  far  the  most  treacherous  and  savage 
and  bloodthirsty  of  the  whole  lot  of  them." 

And  now  the  fair  stranger  beside  him  addressed  him  for 
the  first  time ;  and  as  she  did  so,  she  turned  her  eyes  to- 
wards him — clear,  large  eyes  that  rather  startled  one  when 
the  heavy  lids  were  lifted,  so  full  of  expression  were  they. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  she,  with  a  certain  demure  smile,  "  you 
have  no  wild  deeds  done  there  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  have  become  quite  peaceable  folks  now,"  said 
he,  laughing.  "  Our  spirit  is  quite  broken.  The  wild  boars 
are  all  away  from  the  islands  now,  even  from  Muick ;  we 
have  only  the  sheep.  And  the  Mackenzies,  and  the  Mac- 
leans, and  the  Macleods — they  are  all  sheep  now." 

Was  it  not  quite  obvious  ?  How  could  any  one  associate 
with  this  bright-faced  young  man  the  fierce  traditions  of  hate 
and  malice  and  revenge,  that  makes  the  seas  and  islands  of 
the  north  still  more  terrible  in  their  loneliness  ?  Those  were 
the  days  of  strong  wills  and  strong  passions,  and  of  an  easy 
disregard  of  individual  life  when  the  gratification  of  some 
set  desire  was  near.  What  had  this  Macleod  to  do  with  such 
scorching  fires  of  hate  and  of  love  ?  He  was  playing  with  a 
silver  fork  and  half  a  dozen  strawberries  :  Miss  White's  sur- 
mise was  perfectly  natural  and  correct. 

The  ladies  went  upstairs,  and  the  men,  after  the  claret 
had  gone  round,  followed  them.  And  now  it  seemed  to  this 
rude  Highlander  that  he  was  only  going  from  wonder  to 
wonder.  Half-way  up  the  narrow  staircase  was  a  large  recess 
dimly  lit  by  the  sunlight  falling  through  stained  glass,  and 
there  was  a  small  fountain  playing  in  the  middle  of  this  grotto 
and  all  around  was  a  wilderness  of  ferns  dripping  with  the 
spray,  while  at  the  entrance  two  stone  figures  held  up  magical 
globes  on  which  the  springing  and  falling  water  was  reflected. 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  21 

Then  from  this  partial  gloom  he  emerged  into  the  drawing- 
room — a  dream  of  rose-pink  and  gold,  with  the  air  sweetened 
around  him  by  the  masses  of  roses  and  tall  lilies  about.  His 
eyes  were  rather  bewildered  at  first ;  the  figures  of  the  women 
seemed  dark  against  the  white  lace  of  the  windows.  But  as 
he  went  forward  to  his  hostess,  he  could  make  out  still  further 
wonders  of  color ;  for  in  the  balconies  outside,  in  the  full 
glare  of  the  sun,  were  geraniums,  and  lobelias,  and  golden 
calceolarias,  and  red  snapdragon,  their  bright  hues  faintly 
tempered  by  the  thin  curtains  through  which  they  were  seen. 
He  could  not  help  expressing  his  admiration  of  these  things 
that  were  so  new  to  him,  for  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
come  into  a  land  of  perpetual  summer  and  sunshine  and  glow- 
ing flowers.  Then  the  luxuriant  greenness  of  the  foliage  on 
the  other  side  of  Exhibition  Road — for  Mrs.  Ross's  house 
faced  westward — was,  as  he  said,  singularly  beautiful  to  one 
accustomed  to  the  windy  skies  of  the  western  isles. 

"  But  you  have  not  seen  our  elm — our  own  elm,"  said 
Mrs.  Ross,  who  was  arranging  some  azaleas  that  had  just 
been  sent  her.  "  We  are  very  proud  of  our  elm.  Gertrude, 
will  you  take  Sir  Keith  to  see  our  noble  elm .? " 

He  had  almost  forgotten  who  Gertrude  was  ;  but  the  next 
second  he  recognized  the  low  and  almost  timid  voice  that 
said. 

"  Will  you  come  this  way,  then  Sir  Keith  ? " 

He  turned,  and  found  that  it  was  Miss  White  who  spoke. 
How  was  it  that  this  girl,  who  was  only  a  girl,  seemed  to  do 
things  so  easily,  and  gently,  and  naturally,  without  any  trace 
of  embarrassment  or  self-consciousness  t  He  followed  her, 
and  knew  not  which  to  admire  the  more,  the  careless  simpli- 
city of  her  manner,  or  the  singular  symmetry  of  her  tall  and 
slender  figure.  He  had  never  seen  any  statue  or  any  picture 
in  any  book  to  be  compared  with  this  woman,  who  was  so  fine, 
and  rare,  and  delicate  that  she  seemed  only  a  beautiful  tall 
flower  in  this  garden  of  flowers.  There  was  a  strange  simpli- 
city, too,  about  her  dress — a  plain,  tight-fitting,  tight-sleeved 
dress  of  unrelieved  black,  her  only  adornment  being  some 
bands  of  big  blue  beads  worn  loosely  round  the  neck.  The 
black  figure,  in  this  shimmer  of  rose-pink  and  gold  and  flowers, 
was  effective  enough  ;  but  even  the  finest  of  pictures  or  the 
finest  of  statues  has  not  the  subtle  attraction  of  a  graceful 
carriage.  Macleod  had  never  seen  any  woman  walk  as  this 
woman  w  alked,  in  so  stately  and  yet  so  simple  a  way. 

From  Mrs,  Ross's  chief  drawing-room  they  passed  into  an 


22  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

ante  drawing-room,  which  was  partly  a  passage  and  partly  a 
conservatory.  On  the  window  side  were  some  rows  of  Cape 
heaths,  on  the  wall  side  some  rows  of  blue  and  white  plates ; 
and  it  was  one  of  the  latter  that  was  engaging  the  attention 
of  two  persons  in  this  anteroom — Colonel  Ross  himself,  and 
a  little  old  gentleman  in  gold-rimmed  spectacles. 

"  Shall  I  introduce  you  to  my  father  t  "  said  Miss  White  to 
her  companion  ;  and,  after  a  word  or  two,  they  passed  on. 

"  I  think  papa  is  invaluable  to  Colonel  Ross,"  said  she  : 
*'  he  is  as  good  as  an  auctioneer  at  telling  the  value  of  chins. 
Look  at  this  beautiful  heath.  Mrs.  Ross  is  very  proud  of 
her  heaths." 

The  small  white  fingers  scarcely  touched  the  beautiful 
blossoms  of  the  plant ;  but  which  were  the  more  palely 
roseate  and  waxen  ?  If  one  were  to  grasp  that  hand — in 
some  sudden  moment  of  entreaty,  in  the  sharp  joy  of  recon- 
ciliation, in  the  agony  of  farewell — would  it  not  be  crushed 
like  a  frail  flower  1 

"  There  is  our  elm,"  said  she,  lightly.  "  Mrs.  Ross  and 
I  regard  it  as  our  own,  we  have  sketched  it  so  often." 

They  had  emerged  from  the  conservatory  into  a  small 
square  room,  which  was  practically  a  continuation  of  the 
drawing-room,  but  which  was  decorated  in  pale  blue  and 
silver,  and  filled  with  a  lot  of  knick-knacks  that  showed  it  was 
doubtless  Mrs.  Ross's  boudoir.  And  out  there,  in  the  clear 
June  sunshine,  lay  the  broad  greensward  behind  Prince's 
Gate,  with  the  one  splendid  elm  spreading  his  broad  branches 
into  the  blue  sky,  and  throwing  a  soft  shadow  on  the  corner 
of  the  gardens  next  to  the  house.  How  sweet  and  still  it 
was  ! — as  still  as  the  calm,  clear  light  in  this  girl's  eyes. 
There  was  no  passion  there,  and  no  trouble  ;  only  the  light 
of  a  June  day,  and  of  blue  skies,  and  a  peaceful  soul.  She 
rested  the  tips  of  her  fingers  on  a  small  rosewood  table  that 
stood  by  the  window  :  surely,  if  a  spirit  ever  lived  in  any 
table,  the  wood  of  this  table  must  have  thrilled  to  its  core. 

And  had  he  given  all  this  trouble  to  this  perfect  creature 
merely  that  he  should  look  at  a  tree  1  and  was  he  to  say 
some  ordinary  thing  about  an  ordinary  elm  to  tell  her  how 
grateful  he  was  .'' 

"  It  is  like  a  dream  to  me,"  he  said,  honestly  enough, 
"  since  I  came  to  London.  You  seem  always  to  have  sun- 
light and  plenty  of  fine  trees  and  hot-house  flowers.  But  I 
suppose  you  have  winter,  like  the  rest  of  us  ? " 

"  Or  we   should  very  soon  tire  of  all  this,  beautiful  as  it 


MACLfiOD  OF  DARE,  23 

is,"  said  she  ;  and  she  looked  rather  wistfully  out  on  the  broad, 
still  gardens.  "  For  my  part,  I  should  ver}'  soon  tire  of  it. 
I  should  think  there  was  more  excitement  in  the  wild  storms 
and  the  dark  nights  of  the  north ;  there  must  be  a  strange 
fascination  in  the  short  winter  days  among  the  mountains, 
and  the  long  winter  nights  by  the  side  of  the  Atlantic." 

He  looked  at  her  and  smiled.  That  fierce  fascination 
he  knew  something  of  :  how  had  she  guessed  at  it  ?  And  as 
for  her  talking  as  if  she  herself  would  gladly  brave  these 
storms — was  it  for  a  foam-bell  to  brave  a  storm  ?  was  it  for 
a  rose-leaf  to  meet  the  driving  rains  of  Ben-an-Sloich  ? 

"  Shall  we  go  back  now  ?  "  said  she  ;  and  as  she  turned 
to  lead  the  way  he  could  not  fail  to  remark  how  shapely  her 
neck  was,  for  her  rich  golden-brown  hair  was  loosely  gath- 
ered up  behind. 

But  just  at  this  moment  Mrs.  Ross  made  her  appearance. 

"  Come  ,"  said  she,  "  we  shall  have  a  chat  all  to  ourselves  ; 
and  you  will  tell  me,  Sir  Keith,  what  you  have  seen  since 
you  came  to  London,  and  what  has  struck  you  most.  And 
you  must  stay  with  us,  Gertrude.  Perhaps  Sir  Keith  will  be 
so  kind  as  to  freeze  your  blood  with  another  horrible  story 
about  the  Highlanders.  I  am  only  a  poor  southerner,  and 
had  to  get  up  my  legends  from  books.  But  this  wicked  girl, 
Sir  Keith,  delights  as  much  in  stories  of  bloodshed  as  a 
schoolboy  does." 

"  You  will  not  believe  her,"  said  Miss  White,  in  that  low- 
toned,  gravely  sincere  voice  of  hers,  while  a  faint  shell-like 
pink  suffused  her  face.  "  It  was  only  that  we  were  talking 
of  the  highlands,  because  we  understood  you  were  coming ; 
and  Mrs.  Ross  was  trying  to  make  out" — and  here  a  spice 
of  proud  mischief  came  into  her  ordinarily  calm  eyes — "she 
was  trying  to  make  out  that  you  must  be  a  very  terrible  and 
dangerous  person,  who  would  probably  murder  us  all  if  we 
were  not  civil  to  you 

"  Well,  you  know.  Sir  Keith,"  said  Mrs.  Ross,  apologet- 
ically, "  you  acknowledge  yourself  that  you  Macleods  were  a 
very  dreadful  lot  of  people  at  one  time.  What  a  shame  it 
was  to  track  the  poor  fellow  over  the  snow,  and  then  deliber- 
iately  to  put  brushwood  in  front  of  the  cave,  and  then  suffo- 
cate whole  two  hundred  persons  at  once  !  " 

"  Oh  yes,  no  doubt !  "  said  he  ;  "  but  the  Macdonalds 
were  asked  first  to  give  up  the  men  that  had  bound  the  Mac- 
leods hand  and  foot  and  set  them  adrift  in  the  boat,  and  they 
would  not  do  it.     And  if  the  Macdonalds  had  got  the  Mac- 


24 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


leods  into  a  cave,  they  would  have  suffocated  them  too.  The 
Macdonalds  began  it." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no,"  protested  Mrs.  Ross  ;  "  I  can  remen> 
ber  better  than  that.  What  were  the  Macleods  about  on 
the  island  at  all  when  they  had  to  be  sent  off,  tied  hand  and 
foot,  in  their  boats  ?  " 

"  And  what  is  the  difference  between  tying  a  man  hand 
and  foot  and  putting  him  out  in  the  Atlantic,  and  suffoca- 
ting  him  in  a  cave  ?  It  was  only  by  an  accident  that  the  wind 
drifted  them  over  to  Skye." 

"  I  shall  begin  to  fear  that  you  have  some  of  the  old  blood 
in  you,"  said  Mrs.  Ross,  with  a  smile,  "  if  you  try  to  excuse 
one  of  the  crudest  things  ever  heard  of." 

"  I  do  not  excuse  it  at  all,"  said  he,  simply.  "  It  was 
very  bad — very  cmel.  But  perhaps  the  Macleods  were  not 
so  much  worse  than  others.  It  was  not  a  Macleod  at  all,  it 
was  a  Gordon — and  she  a  woman,  too — that  killed  the 
chief  of  the  Mackintoshes  after  she  had  received  him  as  a 
friend.  *  Put  your  head  down  on  the  table,'  said  she  to  the 
chief,  '  in  token  of  your  submission  to  the  Earl  of  Huntly.' 
And  no  sooner  had  he  bowed  his  neck  than  she  whipped  out 
a  knife  and  cut  his  head  off.  That  was  a  Gordon,  not  a 
Macleod.  And  I  do  not  think  the  Macleods  were  so  much 
worse  than  their  neighbors,  after  all." 

"  Oh,  how  can  you  say  that  "i  "  exclaimed  his  persecutor. 
"  Who  was  ever  guilty  o^  such  an  act  of  treachery  as  setting 
fire  to  the  barn  at  Dunvegan  .-^  Macdonald  and  his  men  get 
driven  on  to  Skye  by  the  bad  weather ;  they  beg  for  sheltei 
from  their  old  enemy  ;  Macleod  professes  to  be  very  great 
friends  with  them  ;  ^nd  Macdonald  is  to  sleep  in  the  castle, 
while  his  men  have  a  barn  prepared  for  them.  You  know 
very  well,  Sir  Keith,  that  if  Macdonald  had  remained  that 
night  in  Dunvegan  Castle  he  would  have  been  murdered ;  and 
if  the  Macleod  girl  had  not  given  a  word  of  warning  to  her 
sweetheart,  the  men  in  the  barn  would  have  been  burned  to 
death.  I  think  if  I  were  a  Macdonald  I  should  be  proud  of 
that  scene — the  Macdonalds  marching  down  to  their  boats 
with  their  pipes  playing,  while  the  barn  was  all  in  a  blaze 
fired  by  their  treacherous  enemies.  Oh,  Sir  Keith,  I  hope 
there  are  no  Macleods  of  that  sort  alive  now." 

*'  There  are  not,  Mrs.  Ross,"  said  he,  gravely.  "  They 
were  all  killed  by  the  Macdonalds,  I  suppose." 

""  I   do  believe/'  said  she,  "  that  it  was  a  Macleod  who 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  25 

built  a  Stone  tower  on  a  lonely  island,  and  imprisoned  his 
wife  there — " 

"  Miss  White,"  the  young  man  said,  modestly,  "  will  not 
you  help. me?  Am  I  to  be  made  responsible  for  all  the  evil 
doings  of  my  ancestors  ?  " 

"  It  is  really  not  fair,  Mrs.  Ross,"  said  she  ;  and  the 
sound  of  this  voice  pleading  for  him  went  to  his  heart :  it 
was  not  as  the  voice  of  other  women. 

"  I  only  meant  to  punish  you,"  said  Mrs.  Ross,  "for  hav- 
ing traversed  the  indictment — I  don't  know  whether  that  is 
the  proper  phrase,  or  what  it  means,  but  it  sounds  well. 
You  first  acknowledge  that  the  Macleods  were  by  far  the 
most  savage  of  the  people  living  up  there :  and  then  you 
tried  to  make  out  that  the  poor  creatures  whom  they  harried 
were  as  cruel  as  themselves." 

"  What  is  cruel  now  was  not  cruel  then,"  he  said  ;  "  it  was 
a  way  of  fighting :  it  was  what  is  called  an  ambush  now — en- 
ticing your  enemy,  and  then  taking  him  at  a  disadvatage 
And  if  you  did  not  do  that  to  him,  he  would  do  it  to  you. 
And  when  a  man  is  mad  with  anger  or  revenge,  what  does 
he  care  for  anything  ?  " 

"  I  thought  we  were  all  sheep  now,"  said  she. 

"  Do  you  know  the  story  of  the  man  who  was  flogged  by 
Maclean  of  Lochbuy — that  is  in  Mull,"  said  he,  not  heeding 
her  remark.'*^'  You  do  not  know  that  old  story  ?  " 

They  did  not ;  and  he  proceeded  to  tell  it  in  a  grave  and 
simple  fashion  which  was  sufficiently  impressive.  For  he 
was  talking  to  these  two  friends  now  in  the  most  unembar- 
rassed way  ;  and  he  had,  besides,  the  chief  gift  of  a  born  nar- 
lator — an  utter  forgetfulness  of  himself.  His  eyes  rested 
quite  naturally  on  their  eyes  as  he  told  his  tale.  But  first 
of  all,  he  spoke  of  the  exceeding  loyalty  of  the  Highland 
folk  to  the  head  of  their  clan.  Did  they  know  that  other 
story  of  how  Maclean  of  Duart  tried  to  capture  the  young 
heir  of  the  house  of  Lochbuy,  and  how  the  boy  was  rescut  d 
and  carried  away  by  his  nurse  ?  And  when,  arrived  at  man's 
estate,  he  returned  to  revenge  himself  on  those  who  had  be- 
trayed him,  among  them  was  the  husband  of  the  nurse.  The 
young  chief  would  have  spared  the  life  of  this  man,  for  the 
eld  woman's  sake.  "Z^/  the  taUgo  with  the  hide,''^  said  she, 
and  he  was  slain  with  the  rest.  /\.  And  then  the  narrator  went 
on  to  the  story  of  the  flogging. H.  He  told  them  how  Maclean 
of  Lochbuy  was  out  after  the  deer  one  day ;  and  his  wife, 
with  her  child,  had  come  out  to  see  the  shooting.     They 


26  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

were  driving  the  deer ;  and  at  a  particular  pass  a  man  was 
stationed  so  that,  should  the  deer  come  that  way,  he  should 
turn  them  back.  The  deer  came  to  this  pass ;  the  man 
failed  to  turn  them  ;  and  the  chief  was  mad  with  rage.  He 
gave  orders  that  the  man's  back  should  be  bared,  and  that 
he  should  be  flogged  before  all  the  people. 

"  Very  well,"  continued  Macleod.  "  It  was  done.  But 
it  is  not  safe  to  do  anything  like  that  to^a  Highlander;  at 
least  it  was  not  safe  to  do  anything  like  that  to  a  highlander 
in  those  days  ;  for,  as  I  told  you,  Mrs.  Ross,  we  are  all  like 
sheep  now.  Then  they  went  after  the  deer  again ;  but  at 
one  moment  the  man  that  had  been  flogged  seized  Macl'*.an's 
child  from  the  nurse,  and  ran  with  it  across  the  mountain- 
side, till  he  reached  a  place  overhanging  the  sea.  And  he 
held  out  the  child  over  the  sea ;  and  it  was  no  use  that  Mac- 
lean begged  on  his  knees  for  forgiveness.  Even  the  passion 
of  loyally  was  lost  now  in  the  fierceness  of  his  revenge. 
This  was  what  the  man  said — that  unless  Maclean  had  his 
back  bared  there  and  then  before  all  the  people,  and  flogged 
as  he  had  been  flogged,  then  the  child  should  be  dashed  in- 
to the  sea  below.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  that — 
no  prayers,  no  offers,  no  appeals  from  the  mother,  were  of 
any  use.  And  so  it  was  that  Maclean  of  Lochbuy  was  flog- 
ged there  before  his  own  people,  and  his  enemy  above  look- 
ing on.  And  then  ?  When  it  was  over,  the  man  called  aloud, 
*  Revenged  !  revenged  ! '  and  sprang  into  the  air  with  the 
child  along  with  him ;  and  neither  of  them  was  ever  seen 
again  after  they  had  sunk  into  the  sea.     It  is  an  old  story." 

An  old  story,  doubtless,  and  often  told  ;  but  its  effect  on 
this  girl  sitting  beside  him  was  strange.  Her  clasped  hands 
trembled  ;  her  eyes  were  glazed  and  fascinated  as  if  by  some 
spell.  Mrs.  Ross,  noticing  this  extreme  tension  of  feeling, 
and  fearing  it,  hastily  rose. 

**  Come,  Gertrude,"  she  said,  taking  the  girl  by  the  hand, 
"  we  shall  be  frightened  to  death  by  these  stories.  Come 
and  sing  us  a  song — a  French  song,  all  about  tears,  and 
fountains,  and  bits  of  ribbon — or  we  shall  be  seeing  the 
ghosts  of  murdered  Highlanders  coming  in  here  in  the  day- 
time." 

Macleod,  not  knowing  what  he  had  done,  but  conscious 
that  something  had  occurred,  followed  then  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, and  retired  to  a  sofa,  while  Miss  White  sat  down  to 
the  open  piano.     He  hoped  he  had  not  offended  her.     He 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


27 


would  not  frighten  her  again  with  any  ghastly  stories  from 
the  wild  northern  seas. 

And  what  was  this  French  song  that  she  was  about  to 
sing  ?  The  pale,  slender  fingers  were  wandering  over  the 
keys  ;  and  there  was  a  sound — faint  and  clear  and  musical — 
as  of  the  rippling  of  summer  seas.  And  sometimes  the 
sounds  came  nearer ;  and  now  he  fancied  he  recognized  some 
old  familiar  strain  ;  and  he  thought  of  his  cousin  Janet  some- 
how, and  of  summer  days  down  by  the  blue  waters  of  the 
Atlantic.  A  French  song  \  Surely  if  this  air,  that  seemed 
to  come  nearer  and  nearer,  was  blown  from  any  earthly  land, 
it  had  come  from  the  valleys  of  Lochiel  and  Ardgour,  and 
from  the  still  shores  of  Arisaig  and  Moidart  ?  Oh  yes  ;  it 
was  a  very  pretty  French  song  that  she  had  chosen  to  please 
Mrs.  Ross  with. 

"A  wee  bird  cam'  to  our  ha'  door  " — 

this  was  what  she  sang ;  and  though,  to  tell  the  truth,  she 
had  not  much  of  a  voice,  it  was  exquisitely  trained,  and  she 
sang  with  a  tenderness  and  expression  such  as  he,  at  least, 
had  never  heard  before, — 

"  He  warbled  sweet  and  clearly  ; 
An'aye  the  o'ercome  o' his  sang 

Was  *  Wae's  me  for  Prince  Charlie!  ' 
Oh,  when  I  heard  the  bonnie  bonnie  bird  » 

The  tears  cam*  drappin'  rarely  ; 
I  took  my  bonnet  off  my  head, 

For  well  I  lo'ed  Prince  Charlie." 

It  could  not  have  entered  into  his  imagination  to  believe  that 
such  pathos  could  exist  apart  from  the  actual  sorrow  of  the 
world.  The  instrument  before  her  seemed  to  speak  ;  and 
the  low,  joint  cry  was  one  of  infinite  grief,  and  longing,  and 
love. 

"  Quoth  I,  *  My  bird,  my  bonnie,  bonnie  bird, 

Is  that  a  sang  ye  borrow  ? 
Are  these  some  words  ye've  learnt  by  heart, 

Or  a  lilt  o'  dool  an*  sorrow  ? 
'  Oh,  no,  no,  no,'  the  wee  bird  sang ; 

'I've  flown  sin'  mornin'  early  ; 
But  sic  a  day  o'  wind  an'  rain — 

Oh,  wae*s  me  for  Prince  Charlie ! '" 

Mrs.  Ross  glanced  archly  at  him  when  she  discovered  what 


28  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

sort  of  French  song  it  was  that  Miss  White  had  chosen  ;  but 
he  paid  no  heed.  His  only  thought  was,  "  If  only  the  mother 
and  Janet  could  hear  this  strange  singing!" 

When  she  had  ended,  Mrs.  Ross  came  over  to  him  and 
said,  "  That  is  a  great  compliment  to  you." 

And  he  answered,  simply,  "  I  have  never  heard  any  sing- 
ing like  that." 

Then  young  Mr.  Ogilvie — whose  existence,  by-the-way, 
he  had  entirely  and  most  ungratefully  forgotten — came  up  to 
the  piano,  and  began  to  talk  in  a  very  pleasant  and  amusing 
fashion  to  Miss  White.  She  was  turning  over  the  leaves  of 
the  book  before  her,  and  Macleod  grew  angry  with  this  idle 
interference.  Why  should  this  lily-fingered  jackanapes, 
whom  a  man  could  wind  round  a  reel  and  throw  out  of  win- 
dow, disturb  the  rapt  devotion  of  this  beautiful  Saint  Cecilia  ? 

She  struck  a  firmer  chord ;  the  bystanders  withdrew  a 
bit ;  and  of  a  sudden  it  seemed  to  him  that  all  the  spirit  of 
all  the  clans  was  ringing  in  the  proud  fervor  of  this  fragile 
girl's  voice.  Whence  had  she  got  this  fierce  Jacobite  passion 
Siat  thrilled  him  to  the  very  finger-tips  t 

"  I'll  to  Lochiel,  and  Appin,  and  kneel  to  them, 
Down  by  Lord  Murray  and  Roy  of  Kildarlie  : 

Brave  Mackintosh,  he  shall  fly  to  the  field  with  them ; 
These  are  the  lads  I  can  trust  wi'  my  Charlie  I  " 

Could  any  man  fail  to  answer  ?  Could  any  man  die  other- 
wise than  gladly  if  he  died  with  such  an  appeal  ringing  in 
his  ears  ?  Macleod  did  not  know  there  was  scarcely  any 
more  volume  in  this  girl's  voice  now  than  when  she  was  sing- 
ing the  plaintive  wail  that  preceded  it :  it  seemed  to  him  that 
there  was  the  strength  of  the  tread  of  armies  in  it,  and  a 
challenge  that  could  rouse  a  nation. 

"  Down  through  the  Lowlands,  down  wi'  the  Whigamore, 
Loyal  true  Highlanders,  down  wi*  them  rarely ! 

Ronald  and  Donald,  drive  on  wi'  the  broad  claymore 
Over  the  neck  o'  the  foes  o'  Prince  Charlie  ! 

Follow  thee  !  follow  thee  !  wha  wadna  follow  thee, 

King  o'  the  Highland  hearts,  bonnie  Prince  Charlie!*' 

She  shut  the  book,  with  a  light  laugh,  and  left  tl>e  piano. 
She  came  over  to  where  Macleod  sat.  When  he  saw  that  she 
meant  to  speak  to  him,he  rose  and  stood  before  her. 

"  I  must  ask  your  pardon,"  said  she,  smiling,  *'for  singing 
two  Scotch  songs,  for  I  know  the  pronunciation  is  very  diffi 
cult." 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


29 


He  answered  with  no  idle  compliment. 

"  If  Tcarlach  bafi  og,  as  they  used  to  call  him,  were  alive 
now,"  said  he — and  indeed  there  was  never  any  Stuart  of 
them  all,  not  even  the  Fair  Young  Charles  himself,  who 
looked  more  handsome  than  this  same  Macleod  of  Dare  who 
now  stood  before  her — "  you  would  get  him  more  men  to 
follow  him  than  any  flag  or  standard  he  ever  raised." 

She  cast  her  eyes  down. 

Mrs.  Ross's  guests  began  to  leave. 

"  Gertrude,"  said  she,  "  will  you  drive  with  me  for  half 
ar  hour —the  carriage  is  at  the  door  ?  And  I  know  the  gentle- 
men want  to  have  a  cigar  in  the  shade  of  Kensington  Gar- 
dens :  they  might  come  back  and  have  a  cup  of  tea  with  us." 

But  Miss  White  had  some  engagement ;  she  and  her 
father  left  together ;  and  the  young  men  followed  them  almost 
directly,  Mrs.  Ross  saying  that  she  would  be  most  pleased  to 
see  Sir  Keith  Macleod  any  Tuesday  or  Thursday  afternoon 
he  happened  to  be  passing,  as  she  was  always  at  home  on 
these  days. 

"I  don't  think  we  can  do  better  than  take  her  advice 
about  the  cigar,"  said  young  Ogilvie,  as  they  crossed  to  Ken- 
sington Gardens.     "  What  do  you  think  of  her  ?  " 

''  Of  Mrs.  Ross  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Oh,  I  think  she  is  a  very  pleasant  woman." 

"Yes,  but,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvie,  "how  did  she  strike  you? 
Do  you  think  she  is  as  fascinating  as  some  men  think  her  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  what  men  think  about  her,"  said  Macleod. 
"  It  never  occurred  to  me  to  ask  w^hether  a  married  woman 
was  fascinating  or  not.  I  thought  she  was  a  friendly  woman 
—  talkative,  amusing,  clever  enough." 

They  lit  their  cigars  in  the  cool  shadow  of  the  great  elms  : 
"U'ho  does  not  know  how  beautiful  Kensington  Gardens  are  in 
June  ?  And  yet  Macleod  did  not  seem  disposed  to  be  gar- 
rulous about  these  new  experiences  of  his  ;  he  was  absorbed, 
and  mostly  silent. 

"  That  is  an  extraordinary  fancy  she  has  taken  for  Ger- 
trude White,"  Mr.  Ogilvie  remarked. 

*  Why  extraordinary  ?  "  the  other  asked,  with  sudden  in- 
terest. 

"  Oh,  well,  it  is  unusual,  you  know.  But  she  is  a  nice 
girl  enough,  and  Mrs.  Ross  is  fond  of  odd  folks.  You  didn't 
speak  to  old  White  ? — his  head  is  a  sort  of  British  Museum 
of  antiquities  ;  but  he  is  of  some  use  to  these  people — h%  is 


30 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


such  a  swell  about  old  armor,  and  china,  and  such  things. 
They  say  he  wants  to  be  sent  out  to  dig  for  Dido's  funeral 
pyre  at  Carthage,  and  that  he  is  only  waiting  to  get  the  trin 
kets  made  at  Birmingham." 

They  walked  on  a  bit  in  silence. 

"  I  think  you  made  a  good  impression  on  Mrs.  Ross," 
said  Ogilvie,  coolly.  "You'll  find  her  an  uncommonly  useful 
woman,  if  she  takes  a  fancy  to  you  ;  for  she  knows  everybody 
and  goes  everywhere,  though  her  own  house  is  too  small  to 
entertain  properly.  By-the-way,  Macleod,  I  don't  think  you 
could  have  hit  on  a  worse  fellow  than  I  to  take  you  about, 
for  I  am  so  little  in  London  that  I  have  become  a  rank  out- 
sider. But  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do  for  you  if  you  will  go 
with  me  to-night  to  Lord  Beauregard's  who  is  an  old  friend 
of  mine.  I  will  ask  him  to  introduce  you  to  some  people — 
and  his  wife  gives  very  good  dances — and  if  any  royal  or  im- 
perial swell  comes  to  town,  you'll  be  sure  to  run  against  him 
there.  I  forget  who  it  is  they  are  receiving  there  to-night ; 
but  anyhow  you'll  meet  two  or  three  of  the  fat  duchesses 
whom  Dizzy  adores  ;  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  that  Irish  girl 
were  there — the  new  beauty  :  Lady  Beauregard  is  very  clever 
at  picking  people  up." 

"  Will  Miss  White  be  there  ?  "  Macleod  asked,  apparently 
deeply  engaged  in  probing  the  end  of  his  cigar. 

His  companion  looked  up  in  surprise.  Then  a  new  fancy 
seemed  to  occur  to  him,  and  he  smiled  very  slightly. 

"  Well,  no,"  said  he,  slowly,  "  I  don't  think  she  will.  In 
fact,  I  am  almost  sure  she  will  be  at  the  Piccadilly  Theatre. 
If  you  like,  we  will  give  up  Lady  Beauregard,  and  after 
dinner  go  to  the  Piccadilly  Theatre  instead.  How  will  that 
do?" 

"  I  think  that  will  do  very  well,"  said  Macleod. 


CHAPTER  IV 

WONDER-LAND. 


A  COOL  evening  in  June,  the  club  wmdows  open,  a  clear 
twilight  shining  over  Pall  Mall,  and  a  tete-a-tete  dinner  at  a 
small,  clean,  bright  table — these  are   not  the  conditions  in 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  3 1 

which  a  young  man  should  show  impatience.  And  yet  the 
cunning  dishes  which  Mr.  Ogilvie,  who  had  a  certain  pride 
in  his  club,  though  it  was  only  one  of  the  junior  institutions, 
had  placed  before  his  friend,  met  with  but  scanty  curiosity  : 
Macleod  would  rather  have  handed  questions  of  cookery  over 
to  his  cousin  Janet.  Nor  did  he  pay  much  heed  to  his  com- 
pai  lion's  sage  advice  as  to  the  sort  of  club  he  should  have 
hiiiself  proposed  at,  with  a  view  to  getting  elected  in  a  dozen 
or  fifteen  years.  A  young  man  is  apt  to  let  his  life  at  forty 
shift  for  itself. 

"You  seem  very  anxious  to  see  Miss  White  again,"  said 
Mr.  Ogilvie,  with  a  slight  smile. 

"  I  wish  to  make  all  the  friends  I  can  while  I  am  in  Lon- 
don," said  Macleod.  "What  shall  I  do  in  this  howling 
wilderness  when  you  go  back  to  Aldershot  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  Miss  Gertrude  White  will  be  of  much  use 
to  you.  Colonel  Ross  may  be.  Or  Lord  Beauregard.  But 
you  cannot  expect  young  ladies  to  take  you  about." 

"  No  ?  "  said  Macleod,  gravely  ;  "  that  is  a  great  pity." 

Mr.  Ogilvie,  who,  with  all  his  knowledge  of  the  world, 
and  of  wines  and  cookery,  and  women,  and  what  not,  had 
sometimes  an  uneasy  consciousness  that  his  companion  was 
laughing  at  him,  here  proposed  that  they  should  have  a  cigar 
before  walking  up  to  the  Piccadilly  Theatre  ;  but  as  it  was 
now  ten  minutes  to  eight,  Macleod  resolutely  refused.  He 
begged  to  be  considered  a  country  person,  anxious  to  see  the 
piece  from  the  beginning.  And  so  they  put  on  their  light 
top-coats  over  their  evening  dress  and  walked  up  to  the 
theat-e. 

A  distant  sound  of  music,  an  odor  of  escaped  gas,  a  per- 
ilous descent  of  a  corkscrew  staircase,  a  drawing  aside  of 
heavy  curtains,  and  then  a  blaze  of  yellow  light  shining 
within  this  circular  building,  on  its  red  satin  and  gilt  plaster, 
and  on  the  spacious  picture  of  a  blue  Italian  lake,  with  pea- 
cocks on  the  wide  stone  terraces.  The  noise  at  first  was  be- 
wildering.  The  leader  of  the  orchestra  was  sawing  away  at 
Lis  violin  as  savagely  as  if  he  were  calling  on  his  company 
to  rush  up  and  seize  a  battery  of  guns.  What  was  the  melo- 
dy that  was  being  banged  about  by  the  trombones,  and  blared 
aloud  by  the  shrill  cornets,  and  sawed  across  by  the  infur- 
iated violins  ?  "  When  the  heart  of  a  man  is  oppressed  with 
care."  The  cure  was  never  insisted  on  with  such  an  angry 
vehemence. 

Recovering  from  the  first  shock  of  this  fierce  noise,  Mac- 


32 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


leod  began  to  look  around  this  strange  place,  with  its  magi- 
cal colors  and  its  profusion  of  gilding ;  but  nowhere  in  the 
half-empty  stalls  or  behind  the  lace  curtains  of  the  boxes 
could  he  make  out  the  visitor  of  whom  he  was  in  search. 
Perhaps  she  was  not  coming,  then  ?  Had  he  sacrificed  the 
evening  all  for  nothing  ?  As  regarded  the  theatre  or  the 
piece  to  be  played,  he  had  not  the  slightest  interest  in  either. 
The  building  was  very  pretty,  no  doubt ;  but  it  was  only,  in 
effect,  a  superior  sort  of  booth  ;  and  as  for  the  trivial  amuse- 
ment  of  watching  a  number  of  people  strut  across  a  stage 
and  declaim — or  perhaps  make  fools  of  themselves  to  raise  a 
laugh — that  was  not  at  all  to  his  liking.  It  would  have  been 
different  had  he  been  able  to  talk  to  the  girl  who  had  shown 
such  a  strange  interest  in  the  gloomy  stories  of  the  Northern 
seas ;  perhaps,  though  he  would  scarcely  have  admitted  this 
to  himself,  it  might  have  been  different  if  only  he  had  been 
allowed  to  see  her  at  some  distance.  But  her  being  absent 
altogether  ?  The  more  the  seats  in  the  stalls  were  filled — 
reducing  the  chances  of  her  coming — the  more  empty  the 
theatre  seemed  to  become. 

"  At  least  we  can  go  along  to  that  house  you  mentioned," 
said  he  to  his  companion. 

"  Oh,  don't  be  disappointed  yet,"  said  Ogilvie  ;  "  I  know 
she  will  be  here." 

"  With  Mrs.  Ross  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Ross  comes  very  often  to  this  theatre.  It  is  the 
correct  thing  to  do.  It  is  high  art.  All  the  people  are  rav- 
ing about  the  chief  actress  ;  artists  painting  her  portrait ; 
poets  writing  sonnets  about  her  different  characters — no  end 
of  a  fuss.  And  Mrs.  Ross  is  very  proud  that  so  distinguished 
a  person  is  her  particular  friend." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  actress  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  makes  her  the  big  feature  of  her  parties  at 
present ;  and  society  is  rather  inclined  to  make  a  pet  of  her, 
too — patronizing  high  art,  don't  you  know.  It's  wonderful 
what  you  can  do  in  that  way.  If  a  duke  wants  a  clown  to 
make  fellows  laugh  after  a  Derby  dinner,  he  gets  him  to  his 
house  and  makes  him  dance  ;  and  if  the  papers  find  it  out, 
it  is  only  raising  the  m-oral  status  of  the  pantomine.  Of 
course  it  is  different  with  Mrs.  Ross's  friend  :  she  is  all  right 
socially." 

The  garrulous  boy  was  stopped  by  the  sudden  cessation 
of  the  music  ;  and  then  the  Italian  lake  and  the  peacocks 
disappeared  into  unknown  regions  above  ;  and  behold !  in. 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  33 

their  place  a  spacipus  hall  was  revealed — not  the  bare  and 
simple  hall  at  Castle  Dare  with  which  Macleod  was  familiar, 
but  a  grand  apartment,  filled  with  old  armor,  and  pictures, 
and  cabinets,  and  showing  glimpses  of  a  balcony  and  fair  gar- 
dens beyond.  There  were  two  figures  in  this  hall,  and  tli^y 
spoke — in  the  high  and  curious  falsetto  of  the  stage.  Mac- 
leod paid  no  more  heed  to  them  than  if  they  had  been  mar- 
ionettes. For  one  thing,  he  could  not  follow  their  speech 
very  well ;  but,  in  any  case,  what  interest  could  be  have  in 
listening  to  this  old  lawyer  explaining  to  the  stout  lady  that 
the  family  affairs  were  grievously  involved  ?  He  was  still  in- 
tently watching  the  new-comers  who  straggled  in,  singly  or 
in  pairs,  to  the  stalls.  When  a  slight  motion  of  the  white 
curtains  showed  that  some  one  was  entering  one  of  the  boxes, 
the  corner  of  the  box  was  regarded  with  as  earnest  a  gaze  as 
ever  followed  the  movements  of  a  herd  of  red  deer  in  the 
misty  chasms  of  Ben-an-Sloich.  What  concern  had  he  in 
the  troubles  of  this  over-dressed  and  stout  lady,  who  was  be- 
wailing her  misfortunes  and  wringing  her  bejewelled  hands  ? 

Suddenly  his  heart  seemed  to  stand  still  altogether.  It 
was  a  light,  glad  laugh — the  sound  of  a  voice  he  knew — that 
seemed  to  have  pierced  him  as  with  a  rifle-ball ;  and  at  the 
same  moment  from  the  green  shimmer  of  foliage  in  the  bal- 
cony there  stepped  into  the  glare  of  the  hall  a  young  girl 
with  life,  and  laughter,  and  a  merry  carelessness  in  her  face 
and  eyes.  She  threw  her  arms  around  her  mother's  neck 
and  kissed  her.  She  bowed  to  the  legal  person.  She  flung 
her  garden  hat  on  to  a  couch,  and  got  up  on  a  chair  to  get 
fresh  seed  put  in  for  her  canary.  It  was  all  done  so  simply, 
and  naturally,  and  gracefully  that  in  an  instant  a  fire  of  life 
and  reality  sprang  into  the  whole  of  this  sham  thing.  The 
woman  was  no  longer  a  marionette,  but  the  anguish-stricken 
mother  of  this  gay  and  heedless  girl.  And  when  the  daugh- 
ter jumped  down  from  the  chair  again — her  canary  on  her 
finger — and  when  she  came  forward  to  pet,  and  caress,  and 
remonstrate  with  her  mother,  and  when  the  glare  of  the  lights 
flashed  on  the  merry  eyes,  and  on  the  white  teeth  and  laugh- 
ing lips,  there  was  no  longer  any  doubt  possible.  Macleod's 
face  was  quite  pale.  He  took  the  programme  from  Ogilvie's 
hand,  and  for  a  minute  or  two  stared  mechanically  at  the 
name  of  Miss  Gertrude  White,  printed  on  the  pink-tinted 
paper.  He  gave  it  him  back  without  a  word.  Ogilvie  only 
smiled ;  he  was  proud  of  the  surprise  he  had  planned. 

And  now  the  fancies  and  recollections  that  came  rush- 


34  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

Ing  into  Macleod's  head  were  of  a  sufficiently  chaotic  and- 
bewildering  character.  He  tried  to  separate  that  grave,  and 
gentle,  and  sensitive  girl  he  had  met  at  Prince's  Gate  from 
this  gay  madcap,  and  he  could  not  at  all  succeed.  His 
heart  laughed  with  the  laughter  of  this  wild  creature  ;  he  en- 
joyed the  discomfiture  and  despair  of  the  old  lawyer  as  she 
stood  before  him  twirling  her  garden  hat  by  a  solitary  ribbon ; 
and  when  the  small,^  white  fingers  raised  the  canary  to  be 
kiised  by  the  pouting  lips,  the  action  was  more  graceful  than 
anything  he  had  ever  seen  in  the  world.  But  where  was  the  si- 
lent and  serious  girl  who  had  listened  with  such  rapt  atten- 
tion to  his  tales  of  passion  and  revenge,  who  seemed  to  have 
some  mysterious  longing  for  those  gloomy  shores  he  came 
from,  who  had  sung  with  such  exquisite  pathos  "  A  wee  bird 
cam'  to  our  ha'  door  ? "  Her  cheek  had  turned  white  when 
she  heard  of  the  fate  of  the  son  of  Maclean  :  surely  that  sen- 
sitive and  vivid  imagination  could  not  belong  to  this  auda- 
cious girl,  with  her  laughing,  and  teasings,  and  demure  co- 
quetry? 

Society  had  not  been  talking  about  the  art  of  Mrs.  Ross's 
protegee  for  nothing  ;  and  that  art  soon  made  short  work  of 
Keith  Macleod's  doubts.  The  fair  stranger  he  had  met  at 
Prince's  Gate  vanished  into  mist.  Here  was  the  real  wo- 
man ;  and  all  the  trumpery  buisness  of  the  theatre,  that  he 
would  otherwise  have  regarded  with  indifference  or  contempt, 
became  a  real  and  living  thing,  insomuch  that  he  followed 
the  fortunes  of  this  spoiled  child  with  a  breathless  interest 
and  a  beating  heart.  The  spell  was  on  him.  Oh,  why 
should  she  be  so  proud  to  this  poor  lover,  who  stood  so 
meekly  before  her  ?  "  Coquette,  coquette"  (Macleod  could 
have  cried  to  her),  "  the  days  are  not  always  full  of  sunshine ; 
life  is  not  all  youth,  and  beauty,  and  high  spirits ;  you  may 
come  to  repent  of  your  pride  and  your  cruelty."  He  had  no 
jealousy  against  the  poor  youth  who  took  his  leave ;  he 
pitied  him,  but  it  was  for  her  sake ;  he  seemed  to  know  that 
evil  days  were  coming,  when  she  would  long  for  the  solace  of 
an  honest  man's  love.  And  when  the  trouble  came — as  it 
speedily  did — and  when  she  stood  bravel)'  up  at  first  to  meet 
her  fate,  and  when  she  broke  down  for  a  time,  and  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands,  and  cried  with  bitter  sobs,  the  tears 
were  running  down  his  face.  Could  the  merciful  heavens  see 
such  grief,  and  let  the  wicked  triumph  ?  And  why  was  there 
no  man  to  succor  her  ?  Sur-ely  some  times  arise  in  which  the 
old  law  is  the  good  law,  and  a  man  will  trust  to  his  own  right 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


35 


arm  to  put  things  straight  in  the  world  ?  To  look  at  ier  ! — 
could  an}r  man  refuse  ?  And  now  she  rises  and  goes  away, 
and  all  the  glad  summer-time  and  the  sunshine  have  gone, 
and  the  cold  wind  shivers  through  the  trees,  and  it  breathes 
only  of  farewell.  Farewell,  O  miserable  one  !  the  way  is 
dark  before  you,  and  you  are  alone.  Alone,  and  no  man 
near  to  help. 

Macleod  was  awakened  from  his  trance.  The  act  drop 
was  let  down  ;  there  was  a  stir  throughout  the  theatre  ;  young 
Ogilvie  turned  to  him, — 

"  Don't  you  see  who  has  come  into  that  corner  box  up 
there  .> " 

If  he  had  told  that  Miss  White,  just  come  up  from  Prince's 
Gate,  in  her  plain  black  dress  and  blue  beads,  had  just  ar' 
rived  and  was  seated  there,  he  would  scarcely  have  been  sur- 
prised. As  it  was,  he  looked  up  and  saw  Colonel  Ross  tak 
ing  his  seat,  while  the  figure  of  a  lady  was  partially  visible 
behind  the  lace  curtain. 

"  I  wonder  how  often  Mrs.  Ross  has  seen  this  piece  ?  * 
Ogilvie  said.  "  And  I  think  Colonel  Ross  is  as  profound  a 
believer  in  Miss  White  as  his  wife  is.  Will  you  go  up  and 
see  them  now  ?  " 

"  No,"  Macleod  said,  absently. 

"  I  shall  tell  them,"  said  the  facetious  boy  as  he  rose  and 
got  hold  of  his  crush  hat,"  that  you  are  meditating  a  leap  on 
to  the  stage  to  rescue  the  distressed  damsel." 

And  then  his  conscience  smote  him. 

"  Mind  you,"  said  he,  "  I  think  it  is  awfully  good  myself. 
I  can't  pump  up  any  enthusiasm  for  most  things  that  people 
rave  about,  but  I  do  think  this  girl  is  uncommonly  clever. 
And  then  she  always  dresses  like  a  lady." 

With  this  high  commendation,  Lieutenant  Ogilvie  left, 
and  made  his  way  upstairs  to  Mrs.  Ross's  box.  Apparently 
he  was  well  received  there,  for  he  did  not  make  his  appear- 
ance again  at  the  beginning  of  the  next  act,  nor,  indeed,  un- 
til it  was  nearly  over. 

The  dream-world  opens  again ;  and  now  it  is  a  beautiful 
garden,  close  by  the  ruins  of  an  old  abbey,  and  fine  ladies 
are  walking  about  there.  But  what  does  he  care  for  these 
marionettes  uttering  meaningless  phrases?  Th-ey  have  no 
more  interest  for  him  than  the  sham  ruins,  so  long  as  that 
one  bright,  speaking,  pathetic  face  is  absent ;  and  the  story 
they  are  carrying  forward  is  for  him  no  story  at  all,  for  he 
takes  no  heed  of  its  details  in  his  anxious  watching  for  her 


36  MACLEOD  OF  DARE 

appearance.  The  sides  of  this  garden  are  mysteriously  di 
vided :  by  which  avenue  shall  she  approach  ?  Suddenly  he 
hears  the  low  voice — she  comes  nearer.  Now  let  the  world 
laugh  again  !  But,  alas !  when  she  does  appear,  it  is  in  the 
company  of  her  lover,  and  it  is  only  to  bid  him  good-by. 
Why  does  the  coward  hind  take  her  at  her  word  ?  A  stick,  a 
stone,  a  wave  of  the  cold  sea,  would  be  more  responsive  to 
that  deep  and  tremulous  voice,  which  has  now  no  longer  any 
of  the  art  of  a  wilful  coquetry  about  it,  but  is  altogether  as 
self-revealing  as  the  generous  abandonment  of  her  eyes. 
The  poor  cipher !  he  is  not  the  man  to  woo  and  win  and 
carry  off  this  noble  woman,  the  unutterable  soul  surrender  of 
whose  look  has  the  courage  of  despair  in  it.  He  bids  her 
farewell.  The  tailor's  dummy  retires.  And  she  ?  in  her 
agony,  is  there  no  one  to  comfort  her  ?  They  have  demanded 
his  sacrifice  in  the  name  of  duty,  and  she  has  consented  : 
ought  not  that  to  be  enough  to  comfort  her  ?  then  other  peo- 
ple appear  from  other  parts  of  the  garden,  and  there  is  a  Ba- 
bel of  tongues.  He  hears  nothing;  but  he  follows  that  sad 
face,  until  he  could  imagine  that  he  listened  to  the  throb- 
bing of  her  aching  heart. 

And  then,  as  the  phantasms  of  the  stage  come  and  go, 
and  fortune  plays  many  pranks  with  these  puppets,  the  piece 
draws  near  to  an  end.  And  now  as  it  appears,  everything  is 
reversed,  and  it  is  the  poor  lover  who  is  in  grievous  trouble, 
wl  ile  she  is  restored  to  the  proud  position  of  her  coquetries 
and  wilful  graces  again,  with  all  her  friends  smiling  around 
her,  and  life  lying  fair  before  her.  She  meets  him  by  acci- 
dent. Suffering  gives  him  a  certain  sort  of  dignity ;  but  how 
is  one  to  retain  patience  with  the  blindness  of  this  insuffera- 
ble ass  ?  Don't  you  see,  man — don't  you  see  that  she  is  wait- 
ing to  throw  herself  into  your  arms  ?  and  you,  you  poor  nin- 
ny, are  giving  yourself  airs,  and  doing  the  grand  heroic  !  And 
then  the  shy  coquetry  comes  in  again.  The  pathetic  eyes 
are  full  of  a  grave  compassion,  if  he  must  really  never  see 
her  more.  The  cat  plays  with  the  poor  mouse,  and  pretends 
that  really  the  tender  thing  is  gone  away  at  last.  He  will 
take  this  half  of  a  broken  sixpence  back :  it  was  given  in 
happier  times.  If  ever  he  should  marry,  he  will  know  that 
one  far  away  prays  for  his  happiness.  And  if — if  these  un- 
womanly tears —  And  suddenly  the  crass  idiot  discovers 
that  she  is  laughing  at  him,  and  that  she  has  secured  him 
and  bound  him  as  completely  as  a  fly  fifty  times  wound  round 
by  a  spider.     The  crash  of  applause  that  accompanied  the 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


37 


lowering  of  the  curtain  stunned  Macleod,  who  had  not  quite 
come  back  from  dreamland.  And  then,  amidst  a  confr.  fed 
roar,  the  curtain  was  drawn  a  bit  back,  and  she  was  led — 
timidly  smiling,  so  that  her  eyes  seemed  to  take  in  all  the 
theatre  at  once — across  the  stage  by  that  same  poor  fool  of  a 
lover  ;  and  she  had  two  or  three  bouquets  thrown  her,  nota- 
bly one  from  Mrs.  Ross's  box.  Then  she  disappeared,  and 
the  lights  were  lowered,  and  there  was  a  dull  shuffling  of  peo- 
ple getting  their  cloaks  and  hats  and  going  away. 

"  Mrs.  Ross  wants  to  see  you  for  a  minute,"  Ogilvie  said. 

"  Yes,"  Macleod  answered,  absently. 

"  And  we  have  time  yet,  if  you  like,  to  get  into  a  hansom 
and  drive  along  to  Lady  Beauregard's." 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN    PARK    LANE. 

They  found  Mrs.  Ross  and  her  husband  waiting  in  the 
corridor  above. 

"  Well,  how  did  you  like  it  ?  "  she  said. 

He  could  not  answer  offhand.  He  was  afraid  he  might 
say  too  much. 

"  It  is  like  her  singing,"  he  stammered,  at  length.  "  I 
am  not  used  to  these  things.  I  have  never  seen  anything 
like  that  before." 

"  We  shall  soon  have  her  in  a  better  piece,"  Mrs.  Ross 
said.  "It  is  being  written  for  her,  That  is  very  pretty,  but 
slight.     She  is  capable  of  greater  things." 

"  She  is  capable  of  anything,"  said  Macleod,  simply,  "  if 
r  she  can  make  you  believe  that  such  nonsense  is  real.  I 
looked  at  the  others.  What  did  they  say  or  do  better  than 
mere  pictures  in  a  book  ?  But  she — it  is  like  magic." 

"  Ajid  did  Mr.  Ogilvie  give  you  my  message  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Ross.  "My  husband  and  I  are  going  down  to  see  a  yacht 
race  on  the  Thames  to-morrow — we  did  not  think  of  it  till 
this  evening  any  more  than  we  expected  to  find  you  here. 
We  came  along  to  try  to  get  Miss  White  to  go  with  us.  Will 
you  join  our  little  party?  " 


^S  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"Oh,  yes,  certainly — thank  you  very  much,"  Macleod 
said,  eagerly. 

"Then  you'd  better  meet  us  at  Charing  Cross,  at  ten 
sharp,"  Colonel  Ross  said  ;  "  so  don't  let  Ogilvie  keep  you 
up  too  late  with  brandy  and  soda.  A  special  will  take  us 
down." 

"  Brandy  and  soda ! "  Mr.  Ogilvie  exclaimed.  "  I  am 
going  to  take  him  along  for  a  few  minutes  to  Lady  Beaure- 
gard's— surely  that  is  proper  enough  ;  and  I  have  to  get  down 
by  the  *  cold-meat '  train  to  Aldershot,  so  there  won't  be 
much  brandy  and  soda  for  me.    Shall  we  go  now,  Mrs.Ross  ? " 

"  I  am  waiting  for  an  answer,"  Mrs.  Ross  said,  looking 
along  the  corridor. 

Was  it  possible,  then,  that  she  herself  should  bring  the 
answer  to  this  message  that  had  been  sent  her — stepping  out 
of  the  dream-world  in  which  she  had  disappeared  with  her 
lover  ?  And  how  would  she  look  as  she  came  along  this 
narrow  passage  ?  Like  the  arch  coquette  of  this  land  of  gas- 
light and  glowing  colors  ?  or  like  the  pale,  serious,  proud  girl 
who  was  fond  of  sketching  the  elm  at  Prince's  Gate  t  A 
strange  nervousness  possessed  him  as  he  thought  she  might 
suddenly  appear.  He  did  not  listen  to  the  talk  between 
Colonel  Ross  and  Mr.  Ogilvie.  He  did  not  notice  that  this 
small  party  was  obviously  regarded  as  being  in  the  way  by 
the  attendants  who  were  putting  out  the  lights  and  shutting 
the  doors  of  the  boxes.     Then  a  man  came  along. 

"Miss  White's  compliments,  ma'am,  and  she  will  be  very 
pleased  to  meet  you  at  Charing  Cross  at  ten  to-morrow." 

"  And  Miss  White  is  a  very  brave  young  lady  to  attempt 
anything  of  the  kind,"  observed  Mr.  Ogilvie,  confidentially, 
as  they  all  went  downstairs ;  "  for  if  the  yachts  should  get 
becalmed  of  the  Nore,  or  off  the  Mouse,  I  wonder  how  Miss 
White  will  get  back  to  London  in  time  ?  " 

*'  Oh,  we  shall  take  care  of  that,"  said  Colonel  Ross. 
"  Unless  there  is  a  good  steady  breeze  we  sha'n't  go  at  all ; 
we  shall  spend  a  happy  day  at  Rosherville,  or  have  a  look  iit 
the  pictures  at  Greenwich.  We  sha'n't  get  Miss  White  into 
trouble.  Good-bye,  Ogilvie.  Good-bye,  Sir  Keith.  Remem- 
ber ten  o'clock.  Charing  Cross." 

They  stepped  into  their  carriage  and  drove  off. 

"  Now,"  said  Macleod's  companion,  "  are  you  tired  ?  " 

"  Tired  ?     I  have  done  nothing  all  day." 

"  Shall  we  get  into  a  hansom  and  drive  along  to  Lady 
Beauregard's  ? " 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  39 

"  Certainly,  if  you  like.  I  suppose  they  won't  throw  you 
ovet  again  ?  " 

*'  Oh  no,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvie,  as  he  once  more  adventured 
his  person  in  a  cab.  "  And  I  can  tell  you  it  is  much  better 
— if  you  look  at  the  thing  philosophically,  as  poor  wretches 
like  you  and  me  must — to  drive  to  a  crush  in  a  hansom  than 
in  yonr  own  carriage.  You  don*t  worry  about  your  horses 
being  kept  out  in  the  rain ;  you  can  come  away  at  any 
moment ;  there  is  no  fussing  with  servants,  and  rows  because 
your  man  has  got  out  of  the  rank — -     Hold  up  !  " 

Whether  it  was  the  yell  or  not,  the  horse  recovered  from  the 
slight  stumble  ;  and  no  harm  befel  the  two  daring  travellers. 

"  These  vehicles  give  one  some  excitement,"  Macleod 
said — or  rather  roared,  for  Piccadilly  was  full  of  carriages. 
"  A  squall  in  Loch  Scridain  is  nothing  to  them." 

"  You'll  get  used  to  them  in  time,"  was  the  complacent 
answer. 

They  dismissed  the  hansom  at  the  corner  of  Piccadilly, 
and  walked  up  Park  Lane,  so  as  to  avoid  waiting  in  the  rank 
of  carriages.  Macleod  accompanied  his  companion  meekly. 
All  this  scene  around  him — the  flashing  lights  of  the  broug- 
hams, the  brilliant  windows,  the  stepping  across  the  pave- 
ment of  a  strangely  dressed  dignitary  from  some  foreign  land 
— seemed  but  some  other  part  of  that  dream  from  which  he 
had  not  quite  shaken  himself  free.  His  head  was  still  full  of 
the  sorrows  and  coquetries  of  that  wild-spirited  heroine. 
Whither  had  she  gone  by  this  time — away  into  some  strange 
valley  of  that  unknown  world  ? 

He  was  better  able  than  Mr.  Ogilvie  to  push  his  way 
through  the  crowd  of  footmen  who  stood  in  two  lines  across 
the  pavement  in  front  of  Beauregard  House,  watching  for  the 
first  appearance  of  their  master  or  mistress ;  but  he  resign- 
edly followed,  and  found  himself  in  the  avenue  leading  clear 
up  to  the  steps.  They  were  not  the  only  arrivals,  late  as  the 
hour  was.  Two  young  girls,  sisters,  clad  in  cream-white  silk 
with  a  gold  fringe  across  their  shoulders  and  sleeves,  pre- 
ceded them  ;  and  he  was  greatly  pleased  by  the  manner  in 
which  these  young  ladies,  on  meeting  in  the  great  hall  an 
elderly  lady  who  was  presumably  a  person  of  some  distinct- 
ion, dropped  a  pretty  little  old-fashioned  courtesy  as  they 
shook  hands  with  her.  He  admired  much  less  the  more  for- 
mal obeisance  which  he  noticed  a  second  after.  A  royal  per- 
sonage was  leaving ;  and  as  this  lady,  who  was  dressed  in 
mourning,  and  was  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  gentleman  whose 


40 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE 


coat  was  blazing  with  diamond  stars,  and  whose  breast  was 
barred  across  with  a  broad  blue  ribbon,  came  along  the  spac- 
ious landing  at  the  foot  of  the  wide  staircase,  she  graciously 
extended  her  hand  and  said  a  few  words  to  such  of  the  ladies 
standing  by  as  she  knew.  That  deep  bending  of  the  knee 
he  considered  to  be  less  pretty  than  the  little  courtesy  per- 
formed by  the  young  ladies  in  cream-white  silk.  He  intended 
to  mention  this  matter  to  his  cousin  Janet. 

Then,  as  soon  as  the  Princess  had  left  the  lane,  through 
which  she  had  passed  closed  up  again,  and  the  crowd  be- 
came a  confused  mass  of  murmuring  groups.  Still-  meekly 
following,  Macleod  plunged  into  this  throng,  and  presently 
found  himself  being  introduced  to  Lady  Beauregard — an 
amiable  little  woman  who  had  been  a  great  beauty  in  her 
time,  and  was  pleasant  enough  to  look  at  now.  He  passed 
on. 

"  Who  is  the  man  with  the  blue  ribbon  and  the  diamond 
star  ?  "  he  asked  of  Mr.  Ogilvie. 

"  That  is  Monsieur  le  Marquis  himself — that  is  your  host," 
the  young  gentleman  replied — only  Macleod  could  not  tell 
why  he  was  obviously  trying  to  repress  some  covert  merriment. 

"  Didn't  you  hear  ?  "  Mr.  Ogilvie  said  at  length.  "  Don't 
you  know  what  he  called  you  ?  That  man  will  be  the  death 
of  me — for  he's  always  at  it.  He  announced  you  as  Sir 
Thief  Macleod — I  will  swear  he  did." 

"  I  should  not  have  thought  he  had  so  much  historical 
knowledge,'^  Macleod  answered,  gravely.  "  He  must  have 
been  reading  up  about  the  clans." 

At  this  moment  Lady  Beauregard,  who  had  been  receiv- 
ing some  other  late  visitors,  came  up  and  said  she  wished  to 
introduce  him  to — he  could  not  make  out  the  name.  He 
followed  her.  He  was  introduced  to  a  stout  elderly  lady, 
who  still  had  beautifully  hne  features,  and  a  simple  and  calm 
air  which  rather  impressed  him.  It  is  true  that  at  first  a 
thrill  of  compassion  went  through  him ;  for  he  thought  that 
some  accident  had  befallen  the  poor  lady's  costume,  and  that  it 
had  fallen  down  a  bit  unknown  to  herself ;  but  he  soon  per- 
ceived that  most  of  the  other  women  were  dressed  similarly, 
some  of  the  younger  ones,  indeed,  having  the  back  of  their 
dress  open  practically  to  the  waist.  He  wondered  what  his 
mother  and  Janet  would  say  to  this  style. 

"  Don't  you  think  the  Princess  is  looking  pale  ?  "  he  was 
asked. 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  41 

"  I  thought  she  looked  very  pretty — I  never  saw  her  be- 
fore," said  he. 

What  next  ?  That  calm  air  was  a  trifle  cold  and  distant. 
He  did  not  know  who  the  woman  was,  or  where  she  lived,  or 
whether  her  husband  had  any  shooting,  or  a  yacht,  or  a  pack 
of  hounds.  What  was  he  to  say  ?  He  returned  to  the 
Princess. 

"  I  only  saw  her  as  she  was  leaving,"  said  he.  "  We  came 
late.     We  were  at  the  Piccadilly  Theatre." 

"  Oh,  you  saw  IMiss  Gertrude  White,"  said  this  stout  lady  ; 
and  he  w^as  glad  to  see  her  eyes  light  up  with  some  interest. 
*'  She  is  very  clever,  is  she  not — and  so  pretty  and  engaging. 
I  wish  I  knew  some  one  who  knew  her." 

"  I  know  some  friends  of  hers,"  Macleod  said,  rather 
timidly. 

"  Oh,  do  you,  really  ?  Do  you  think  she  M^ould  give  me 
a  morning  performance  for  my  Fund  ?  " 

This  lady  seemed  to  take  it  so  much  for  granted  that 
every  one  must  have  heard  of  her  Fund  that  he  dared  not 
confess  his  ignorance.  But  it  was  surely  some  charitable 
thing ;  and  how  could  he  doubt  that  Miss  White  would  im- 
mediately respond  to  such  an  appeal  ? 

"  I  should  think  that  she  would,"  said  he,  with  a  little 
hesitation ;  but  at  this  moment  some  other  claimant  came 
forward,  and  he  turned  away  to  seek  young  Ogilvie  once 
more. 

"  Oglivie,"  said  he,  "  who  is  that  lady  in  I  he  green  satin  ?" 

"  The  Duchess  of  Wexford." 

"  Has  she  a  Fund  ?  " 

"  A  what  ?  " 

''  A  Fund — a  charitable  Fund  of  some  sort." 

"  Oh,  let  me  see.  \  think  she  is  getting  up  money  for  a 
new  training  ship — turning  the  young  ragamuffins  about  the 
streets  into  sailors,  don't  you  know." 

"  Do  you  think  Miss  White  would  give  a  morning  per- 
formance for  that  Fund  ?  " 

"Miss  White!  Miss  White !  Miss  White!"  said  Lieu- 
tenant Ogilvie.  "  I  think  Miss  White  has  got  into  your 
head." 

"  But  the  lady  asked  me." 

"  Well,  I  should  say  it  was  exactly  the  thing  that  Miss 
White  would  like  to  do — ^get  mixed  up  with  a  whole  string  of 
duchesses  and  marchionessses — a  capital  advertisement — 
and  it  would  be  all  the  more  distinguished  if  it  was  an  ama- 


42 


MACLEOD  OF  DARH. 


teur  performance,  and  Miss  Gertrude  White  the  only  profes- 
sional admitted  into  the  charmed  circle." 

"  You  are  a  very  shrewd  boy,  Ogilvie,"  Macleod  observed. 
"  I  don't  know  how  you  ever  got  so  much  wisdom  into  so 
small  a  head." 

And  indeed,  as  Lieutenant  Ogilvie  was  returning  to  Al 
dershot  by  what  he  was  pleased  to  call  the  cold-meat  train, 
he  continued  to  play  the  part  of  menior  for  a  time  with  great 
assiduity,  until  Macleod  was  fairly  confused  with  the  number 
of  persons  to  whom  he  was  introduced,  and  the  remarks  his 
friend  made  about  them.  What  struck  him  most,  perhaps, 
was  the  recurrence  of  old  Highland  or  Scotch  family  names, 
borne  by  persons  who  were  thoroughly  English  in  their  speech 
and  ways.  Fancy  a  Gordon  who  said  "  lock  "  for  "  loch  ; "  a 
Mackenzie  who  had  never  seen  the  Lewis  ;  a  Mac  Alpine 
who  had  never  heard  the  proverb,  "  The  hills,  the  Mac  Al- 
pines, and  the  devil  came  into  the  world  at  the  same  time  ! " 

It  was  a  pretty  scene  :  and  he  was  young,  and  eager,  and 
curious,  and  he  enjoyed  it.  After  standing  about  for  half  an 
hour  or  so,  he  got  into  a  corner  from  which,  in  quiet,  he  could 
better  see  the  brilliant  picture  as  a  whole  :  the  bright,  har- 
monious dresses  ;  the  glimpses  of  beautiful  eyes  and  bloom- 
ing complexions  ;  the  masses  of  foxgloves  which  Lady  Beau- 
regard had  as  the  only  floral  decoration  of  the  evening ;  the 
pale  canary-colored  panels  and  silver-Huted  columns  of  the 
walls ;  and  over  all  the  various  candelabra,  each  bearing  a 
cluster  of  sparkling  and  golden  stars.  But  there  was  some- 
thing wanted.  Was  it  the  noble  and  silver-haired  lady  of 
Castle  Dare  whom  he  looked  for  in  vain  in  that  brilliant 
crowd  that  moved  and  murmured  before  him  ?  Or  was  it  the 
friendly  and  familiar  face  of  his  cousin  Janet,  whose  eyes  he 
knew,  would  be  filled  with  a  constant  wonder  if  she  saw  such 
diamonds,  and  silks  and  satins  ?  Or  was  it  that  ignis  fatuus — 
that  treacherous  and  mocking  fire — that  might  at  any  time 
glimmer  in  some  suddenly  presented  face  with  a  new  sur- 
prise ?  Had  she  deceived  him  altogether  down  at  Prince's 
Gate  t  .Was  her  real  nature  that  of  the  wayward,  bright,  mis- 
chievous, spoiled  child  whose  very  tenderness  only  prepared 
her  unsuspecting  victim  for  a  merciless  thrust  ?  And  yet  the 
sound  of  her  sobbing  was  still  in  his  ears.  A  true  woman's 
heart  beat  beneath  that  idle  raillery :  challenged  boldly, 
would  it  not  answer  loyally  and  without  fear  t 

Pyschological  puzzles  were  new  to  this  son  of  the  moun- 
tains ;  and  it  is  no  wonder  that,  long  after  he  had  bidden  good 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  ^3 

bye  to  hi  i  friend  Ogilvie,  and  as  he  s.at  thinking  alone  in  his 
own  room,  with  Oscar  lying  across  the  rug  .^t  his  feet,  his  mind 
refused  to  be  quieted.  One  picture  after  another  presented 
itself  to  his  imagination  :  the  proud-souled  enthusiast  long- 
ing for  the  wild  winter  nights  and  the  dark  Atlantic  seas  ; 
the  pensive  maiden,  shuddering  to  hear  the  fierce  story 
of  Maclean  of  Lochbuy;  the  spoiled  child,  teasmg  her 
mamma  and  petting  her  canary ;  the  wronged  and  weeping 
woman,  her  frame  shaken  with  sobs,  her  hands  clasped  in 
despair  ;  the  artful  and  demure  coquette,  mocking  her  lover 
with  her  sentimental  farewells.  Which  of  them  all  was  she  ? 
Which  should  he  see  in  the  morning  ?  Or  would  she  appear 
as  some  still  more  elusive  vision,  retreating  before  him  as  he 
advanced  ? 

Had  he  asked  himself,  he  would  have  said  that  these 
speculations  were  but  the  fruit  of  a  natural  curiosity.  Why 
should  he  not  be  interested  in  finding  out  the  real  nature  of 
this  girl,  whose  acquaintance  he  had  just  made  ?  It  has  been 
observed,  however,  that  young  gentlemen  do  not  always  be- 
tray this  frantic  devotion  to  pyschological  inquiry  when  the 
subject  of  it,  instead  of  being  a  fascinating  maiden  of  twenty, 
is  a  homely-featured  lady  of  fifty. 

Time  passed ;  another  cigar  was  lit ;  the  blue  light  out- 
side was  becoming  silvery ;  and  yet  the  problem  remained 
unsolved.  A  fire  of  impatience  and  restlessness  was  burn- 
ing in  his  heart ;  a  din  as  of  brazen  instruments — what  was 
the  air  the  furious  orchestra  played  ? — was  in  his  ears  ;  sleep 
or  rest  was  out  of  the  question. 

"  Oscar  !  "  he  called.     "  Oscar,  my  lad,  let  us  go  out !  " 

When  he  stealthily  went  downstairs,  and  opened  the 
door  and  passed  into  the  street,  behold  !  the  new  day  was 
shining  abroad — and  how  cold,  and  still,  and  silent  it  was 
after  the  hot  glare  and  whirl  of  that  bewildering  night !  No 
living  thing  was  visible.  A  fresh,  sweet  air  stirred  the  leaves 
of  the  trees  and  bushes  in  St.  James's  Square.  There  was  a 
pale  lemon-yellow  glow  in  the  sky,  and  the  long,  empty  thor- 
oughfare of  Pall  Mall  seemed  coldly  white. 

Was  this  a  somnambulist,  then,  who  wandered  idly  along 
through  the  silent  streets,  apparently  seeing  nothing  of  the 
closed  doors  and  the  shuttered  windows  on  either  hand  ?  A 
policeman,  standing  at  the  corner  of  Waterloo  Place,  stared 
at  the  apparition — at  the  twin  apparition,  for  this  tall  young 
gentleman  with  the  light  top-coat  thrown  over  his  evening 
dress  was  accompanied  by  a  beautiful  collie  that  kept  cIosj 


44 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


to  his  heels.  There  was  a  solitary  four-wheeled  cab  at  the 
foot  of  the  Haymarket ;  but  the  man  had  got  inside  and  was 
doubtless  asleep.  The  embankment  ? — with  the  young  trees 
stirring  in  the  still  morning  air ;  and  the  broad  bosom  of  the 
river  catching  the  gathering  glow  of  the  skys.  He  leaned  on 
the  gray  stone  parapet,  and  looked  out  on  the  placid  waters 
of  the  stream. 

Placid,  indeed,  they  were  as  they  went  flowing  quietly  by ; 
and  the  young  day  promised  to  be  bright  enough  ;  and  why 
should  there  be  aught  but  peace  and  goodwill  upon  earth  to- 
ward all  men  and  women  ?  Surely  there  was  no  call  for  any 
umrest,  or  fear,  or  foreboding  t  The  still  and  shining  morn- 
ing was  but  emblematic  of  his  life — if  only  he  knew,  and  were 
content.  And  indeed  he  looked  contented  enough,  as  he  wan- 
dered on,  breathing  the  cool  freshness  of  the  air,  and  with  a 
warmer  light  from  the  east  now  touching  from  time  to  time 
his  sun-tanned  face.  He  went  up  to  Covent  Garden — ^for 
mere  curiousity's  sake.  He  walked  along  Piccadilly,  and 
thought  the  elms  in  the  Green  Park  looked  more  beautiful 
than  ever.  When  he  returned  to  his  rooms  he  was  of  opinion 
that  it  was  scarcely  worth  while  to  go  to  bed ;  and  so  he 
changed  his  clothes,  and  called  for  breakfast  as  soon  as  some 
one  was  up.  In  a  short  time — after  his  newspaper  had  been 
read — he  would  have  to  go  down  to  Charing  Cross. 

What  of  this  morning  walk  ?  Perhaps  it  v/as  unimportant 
enough.  Only,  in  after-times,  he  once  or  twice  thought  of  it ; 
and  very  clearly  indeed  he  could  see  himself  standing  there 
in  the  early  light,  looking  out  on  the  shining  waters  of  the  river. 
They  say  that  when  you  see  yourself  too  vividly — when  you 
imagine  that  you  yourself  are  standing  before  yourself — that 
is  one  of  the  signs  of  madness. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  SUMMER  DAY  ON  THE  THAMES. 

It  occurred  to  him  as  he  walked  down  to  the  station — 
perhaps  he  went  early  on  the  chance  of  finding  her  there 
alone — that  he  ought  seriously  to  study  the  features  of  this 
girl's  face ;  for  was  there  not  a  great  deal  of  character  to  be 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


45 


learned,  or  guessed  at,  that  way  ?  He  had  but  the  vaguest 
notion  of  what  she  was  really  like.  He  knew  that  her  teeth 
were  pearly  white  when  she  smiled,  and  that  the  rippling 
golden-brown  hair  lay  rather  low  on  a  calm  and  thoughtful 
forehead  ;  but  he  had  a  less  distinct  impression  that  her  nose 
was  perhaps  the  least  thing  retrousse ;  and  as  to  her  eyes  ? 
They  might  be  blue,  gray,  or  green,  but  one  thing  he  was  sure 
of,  was  that  they  could  speak  more  than  was  ever  uttered  by 
any  speech.  He  knew,  besides,  that  she  had  an  exquisite 
figure  :  perhaps  it  was  the  fact  that  her  shoulders  were  a  trifle 
squarer  than  is  common  with  women  that  made  her  look 
somewhat  taller  than  she  really  was. 

He  would  confirm  or  correct  these  vague  impressions.  And 
as  the  chances  were  that  they  would  spend  a  whole  long  day 
together,  he  would  have  abundant  opportunity  of  getting  to 
know  something  about  the  character  and  disposition  of  this 
new  acquaintance,  so  that  she  should  no  longer  be  to  him  a 
puzzling  and  distracting  will-o'-the-wisp.  What  had  he  come 
to  London  for  but  to  improve  his  knowledge  of  men  and  of 
women,  and  to  see  what  was  going  on  in  the  larger  world  ? 
And  so  this  earnest  student  walked  down  to  the  station. 

There  were  a  good  many  people  about,  mostly  in  groups 
chatting  with  each  other  ;  but  he  recognized  no  one.  Perhaps 
he  was  looking  out  for  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Ross  ;  perhaps  for  a 
slender  figure  in  black,  with  blue  beads  ;  at  all  events,  he  was 
gazing  somewhat  vacantly  around  when  some  one  turned  close 
by  him.  Then  his  heart  stood  still  for  a  second.  The  sudden 
light  that  sprang  to  her  face  when  she  recognized  him  blinded 
him.  Was  it  to  be  always  so  ?  Was  she  always  to  come  upon 
him  in  a  flash,  as  it  were  ?  What  chance  had  the  poor 
student  of  fulfilling  his  patient  task  when,  on  his  approach, 
he  was  sure  to  be  met  by  this  surprise  of  the  parted  lips,  and 
sudden  smile,  and  bright  look  ?  He  was  far  too  bewildered 
to  examine  the  outline  of  her  nose  or  the  curve  of  the  exquis- 
itely short  upper  lip. 

But  the  plain  truth  was  that  there  was  no  entravagant  joy 
at  all  in  Miss  White's  face,  but  a  very  slight  and  perhaps 
pleased  surprise  ;  and  she  was  not  in  the  least  embarrassed. 

"  Are  you  looking  for  Mrs.  Ross,"  said  she,  "  like  my- 
self .? " 

"  Yes,"  said  he ;  and  then  he  found  himself  exceedingly 
anxious  to  say  a  great  deal  to  her,  without  knowing  where  to 
begin.  She  had  surprised  him  too  much — as  usual.  She 
was  so  different  from  what  he   had  been  dreaming  about. 


4.6  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

Here  was  no  one  of  the  imaginary  creatures  that  had  risen 
before  his  mind  during  the  stillness  of  the  night.  Even  the 
pale  dreamer  in  black  and  blue  beads  was  gone.  He  found 
before  him  (as  far  as  he  could  make  out)  a  quiet,  bright-faced, 
self-possessed  girl,  clad  in  a  light  and  cool  costume  of  white, 
with  bits  of  black  velvet  about  it ;  and  her  white  gloves  and 
sunshade,  and  the  white  silver  chain  round  her  slender  waist, 
were  important  features  in  the  picture  she  presented.  How 
could  this  eager  student  of  character  get  rid  of  the  distress- 
ing trivialities  ?  All  night  long  he  had  been  dreaming  of 
beautiful  sentiments  and  conflicting  emotions  :  now  his  first 
thought  was  that  he  had  never  seen  any  costume  so  delight- 
fully cool,  and  clear,  and  summer-like.  To  look  at  her  was 
to  think  of  a  mountain  spring,  icy  cold  even  in  the  sunshine. 

"  I  always  come  early,"  said  she,  in  the  most  matter-of- 
fact  way.     "  I  cannot  bear  hurry  in  catching  a  train." 

Of  course  not.  How  could  any  one  associate  rattling 
cabs,  and  excited  porters,  and  frantic  mobs  with  this  serene 
creature,  who  seemed  to  have  been  wafted  to  Charing  Cross 
on  a  cloud  ?  And  if  he  had  had  his  will,  there  would  have 
been  no  special  train  to  disturb  her  repose.  She  would  have 
embarked  in  a  noble  barge,  and  lain  upon  couches  of  swans- 
down,  and  ample  awnings  of  silk  would  have  sheltered  her 
from  the  sun,  while  the  beautiful  craft  floated  away  down  the 
river,  its  crimson  hangings  here  and  there  just  touching  the 
rippling  waters. 

"  Ought  we  to  take  tickets  ?  " 

That  was  what  she  actually  said ;  but  what  those  eloquent, 
innocent  eyes  seemed  to  say  was,  "  Can  you  read  what  we 
have  to  tell  you  1  Don't  you  know  what  a  si7nple  and  confiding 
soul  appeals  to  you  1 — clear  as  the  daylight  in  its  truth.  .  Cannot 
you  look  through  us  and  see  the  trusting^  tender  soul  within  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better  wait  for  Colonel  Ross,"  said  he  ; 
and  there  was  a  little  pronoun  in  this  sentence  that  he  would 
like  to  have  repeated.  It  was  a  friendly  word.  It  estab- 
lished a  sort  of  secret  companionship.  It  is  the  proud  privi- 
lege of  a  man  to  know  all  about  railway  tickets  ;  but  he  rather 
preferred  this  association  with  her  helpless  innocence  and  ig- 
norance. 

"  I  had  no  idea  you  were  coming  to-day.  I  rather  like 
those  surprise  parties.  Mrs.  Ross  never  thought  of  going 
until  last  evening,  she  says.  Oh,  by  the  way,  I  saw  you  in 
the  theatre  last  evening." 

He  almost  started.     He  had  quite  forgotten  that  this  self- 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  47 

possessed,  clear-eyed,  pale  girl  was  the  madcap  coquette 
whose  caprices  and  griefs  had  alternately  fascinated  and 
moved  him  on  the  previous  evening. 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  he  stammered.  "  It  was  a  great  pleasure 
to  me — and  a  surprise.  Lieutenant  Ogilvie  played  a  trick 
upon  me.  He  did  not  tell  me  before  we  went  that — that  you 
were  to  appear." 

She  looked  amused. 

"  You  did  not  know,  then,  when  we  met  at  Mrs.  Ross's 
that  I  was  engaged  at  the  Piccadilly  Theatre  ? " 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  he  said,  earnestly,  as  if  he  wished  her 
distinctly  to  understand  that  he  could  not  have  imagined 
such  a  thing  to  be  possible. 

"  You  should  have  let  me  send  you  a  box.  We  have  an- 
other piece  in  rehearsal.     Perhaps  you  will  come  to  see  that." 

Now  if  these  few  sentences,  uttered  by  those  two  young 
people  in  the  noisy  railway  station,  be  taken  by  themselves 
and  regarded,  they  will  be  found  to  consist  of  the  dullest 
commonplace.  No  two  strangers  in  all  that  crowd  could 
have  addressed  each  other  in  a  more  indifferent  fashion. 
But  the  trivial  nothings  which  the  mouth  utters  may  become 
possessed  of  awful  import  when  accompanied  by  the  language 
of  the  eyes  ;  and  the  poor  commonplace  sentences  may  be 
taken  up  and  translated  so  that  they  shall  stand  written 
across  the  memory  in  letters  of  flashing  sunlight  and  the 
colors  of  June.  "  Ought  we  to  take  tickets  ?  "  There  was 
not  much  poetry  in  the  phrase  but  she  lifted  her  eyes  just 
then. 

And  now  Colonel  Ross  and  his  wife  appeared,  accom- 
panied by  the  only  other  friend  they  could  get  at  such  short 
notice  to  join  this  scratch  party — a  demure  little  old  lady  who 
had  a  very  large  house  on  Campden  Hill  which  everybody 
coveted.  They  were  just  in  time  to  get  comfortably  seated 
in  the  spacious  saloon  carriage  that  had  been  reserved  for 
them.  The  train  slowly  glided  out  of  the  station,  and  then 
began  to  rattle  away  from  the  midst  of  London.  Glimpses 
of  a  keener  blue  began  to  appear.  The  gardens  were  green 
with  the  foliage  of  the  early  summer ;  martins  swept  across 
the  still  pools,  a  spot  of  white  when  they  got  into  the  shadow. 
And  Miss  White  would  have  as  many  windows  open  as  pos- 
sible, so  that  the  sweet  June  air  swept  right  through  the  long 
carriage. 

And  was  she  not  a  very  child  in  her  enjoyment  of  this 
sudden  escape  into  the  country  ?    The  rapid  motion,  the 


4.8  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

silvery  light,  the  sweet  air,  the  glimpses  of  orchards,  and 
farm-houses,  and  millstreams — all  were  a  delight  to  her ; 
and  although  she  talked  in  a  delicate,  half-reserved,  shy  way 
with  that  low  voice  of  hers,  still  there  was  plenty  of  vivacity 
and  gladness  in  her  eyes.  They  drove  from  Gravesend 
station  to  the  river-side.  They  passed  through  the  crowd 
waiting  to  see  the  yachts  start.  They  got  on  board  the 
steamer ;  and  at  the  very  instant  that  Macleod  stepped  from 
the  gangway  on  to  the  deck,  the  military  band  on  board,  by 
some  strange  coincidence,  struck  up  "  A  Highland  lad  my 
love  was  born."  Mrs.  Ross  laughed,  and  wondered  whether 
the  band-master  had  recognized  her  husband. 

And  now  they  turned  to  the  river ;  and  there  were  the 
narrow  and  shapely  cutters,  with  their  tall  spars,  and  their 
pennons  fluttering  in  the  sunlight.  They  lay  in  two  tiers 
acrosfs  the  river,  four  in  each  tier,  the  first  row  consisting  of 
small  forty-tonners,  the  more  jstately  craft  behind.  A  brisk 
northeasterly  wind  was  blowing,  causing  the  bosom  of  the 
river  to  flash  in  ripples  of  light.  Boats  of  every  size  and 
shape  moved  up  and  down  and  across  the  stream.  The  sud- 
den firing  of  a  gun  caused  some  movement  among  the  red- 
capped  mariners  of  the  four  yachts  in  front. 

"  They  are  standing  by  the  main  halyards,"  said  Colonel 
Ross  to  his  women-folk.     "  Now  watch  for  the  next  signal." 

Another  gun  was  fired  ;  and  all  of  a  sudden  there  was  a 
rattling  of  blocks  and  chains,  and  the  four  mainsails  slowly 
rose,  and  the  flapping  jibs  were  run  out.  The  bows  drifted 
round  :  which  would  get  way  on  her  first  1  But  now  there 
was  a  wild  uproar  of  voices.  The  boom  end  of  one  of  the 
yachts  had  caught  one  of  the  stays  of  her  companion,  and 
both  were  brought  up  head  to  wind.  Cutter  No.  3  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  mishap  to  sail  through  the  lee  of  both  hei 
enemies,  and  got  clear  away,  with  the  sunlight  shining  full  on 
her  bellying  canvas.  But  there  was  no  time  to  watch  the 
further  adventures  of  the  forty-tonners.  Here  and  closer  at 
hand  were  the  larger  craft,  and  high  up  in  the  rigging  were 
the  mites  of  men,  ready  to  drop  into  the  air,  clinging  on  to 
the  halyards.  The  gun  is  fired.  Down  they  come,  swinging 
in  tl>e  air ;  and  the  moment  they  have  reached  the  deck  they 
are  off  and  up  the  ratlines  again,  again  to  drop  into  the  air 
until  the  gaff  is  high  hoisted,  the  peak  swinging  this  way  and 
that,  and  the  gray  folds  of  the  main-sail  lazily  flapping  in  the 
wind.  The  steamer  begins  to  roar.  The  yachts  fall  away 
from  their  moorings,  and  one  by  one  the  sails  fill  out  to  the 


MA  CLE  on  OF  DARE.  49 

fresh  breeze.  And  now  all  is  silence  and  an  easy  gliding 
motion,  for  the  eight  competitors  have  all  started  away,  and 
the  steamer  is  smoothly  following  them. 

"  How  beautiful  they  are  ! — like  splendid  swans,"  Miss 
White  said :  she  had  a  glass  in  her  hand,  but  did  not  use  it, 
for  as  yet  the  stately  fleet  was  near  enough. 

"  A  swan  has  a  body,"  said  Macleod.  "  These  things  seem 
to  me  to  be  all  wings.     It  is  all  canvas,  and  no  hull." 

And,  indeed,  when  the  large  top-sails  and  big  jibs  came 
to  be  set,  it  certainly  seemed  as  if  there  was  nothing  below 
to  steady  this  vast  extent  of  canvas.  Macleod  was  aston- 
ished. He  could  not  believe  that  people  were  so  reckless  as 
to  go  out  in  boats  like  that. 

"If  they  were  up  in  our  part  of  the  world,"  said  he,  "  a 
puff  of  wind  from  the  Gribun  Cliffs  would  send  the  whole 
fleet  to  the  bottom." 

"They  know  better  than  to  \xy"  Colonel  Ross  said, 
"  Those  yachts  are  admirably  suited  for  the  Thames ;  and 
Thames  yachting  is  a  very  nice  thing.  It  is  very  close  to 
London.  You  can  take  a  day's  fresh  air  when  you  like, 
without  going  all  the  way  to  Cowes.  You  can  get  back  to 
town  in  time  to  dine." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Miss  White,  with  emphasis. 

"  Oh,  you  need  not  be  afraid,"  her  host  said,  laughing. 
"  They  only  go  round  the  Nore  ;  and  with  this  steady  breeze 
they  ought  to  be  back  early  in  the  afternoon.  My  dear  Miss 
White,  we  sha'n't  allow  you  to  disappoint  the  British  public." 

"  So  I  may  abandon  myself  to  complete  idleness  without 
concern  t " 

"  Most  certainly." 

And  it  was  an  enjoyable  sort  of  idleness.  The  river  was 
full  of  life  and  animation  as  they  glided  along  ;  fitful  shadows 
and  bursts  of  sunshine  crossed  the  foliage  and  pasture-lands 
of  the  flat  shores  ;  the  yellow  surface  of  the  stream  was 
broken  with  gleams  of  silver;  and  always,  when  this  some- 
what tame,  and  peaceful,  and  pretty  landscape  tended  to  be- 
come monotonous,  they  had  on  this  side  or  that  the  spectacle 
of  one  of  those  tall  and  beautiful  yachts  rounding  on  a  new 
tack  or  creeping  steadily  up  on  one  of  her  opponents.  They 
had  a  sweepstakes,  of  course,  and  Macleod  drew  the  favorite. 
But  then  he  proceeded  to  explain  to  Miss  White  that  the 
handicapping  by  means  of  time  allowances  made  the  choice 
of  a  favorite  a  mere  matter  of  guesswork ;  that  the  fouling  at 


so 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


the  Start  was  of  but  little  moment :  and  that  on  the  whole  she 
ought  to  exchange  yachts  with  him. 

"  But  if  the  chances  are  all  equal,  why  should  your  yacht 
be  better  than  mine  ?  "  said  she. 

The  argument  was  unanswerable ;  but  she  took  the  favor- 
ite for  all  that,  because  he  wished  her  to  do  so ;  and  she 
tendered  him  in  return  the  bit  of  folded  paper  with  the  name 
of  a  rival  yacht  on  it.  It  had  been  in  her  purse  for  a  minute 
or  two.     It  was  scented  when  she  handed  it  to  him. 

"  I  should  like  to  go  to  the  Medditerranean  in  one  of 
those  beautiful  yachts,"  she  said,  looking  away  across  the 
troubled  waters,  "  and  lie  and  dream  under  the  blue  skies.  I 
should  want  no  other  occupation  than  that :  that  would  be 
real  idleness,  with  a  breath  of  wind  now  and  then  to  temper 
the  heat ;  and  an  awning  over  the  deck  ;  and  a  lot  of  books. 
Life  would  go  by  like  a  dream." 

Her  eyes  were  distant  and  pensive.  To  fold  the  bits  oi 
paper,  she  had  taken  off  her  gloves  :  he  regarded  the  smalj 
white  hands,  with  the  blue  veins  and  the  pink,  almond-shaped 
nails.  She  was  right.  That  was  the  proper  sort  of  existence 
for  one  so  fine  and  pale,  and  perfect  even  to  the  finger-tips. 
Rose  Leaf — Rose  Leaf — what  faint  wind  will  carry  you  away 
to  the  south  ? 

At  this  moment  the  band  struck  up  a  lively  air.  What 
was  it  ? 

**  O  this  is  no  my  ain  lassie, 
Fair  though  the  lassie  be.'* 

"  You  are  in  great  favor,  to-day,  liugh,"  Mrs.  Ross  said 
to  her  husband.  "  You  will  have  to  ask  the  band-master  to 
lunch  with  us." 

But  this  sharp  alterative  of  a  well-known  air  had  sent 
Macleod's  thoughts  flying  away  northward,  to  scenes  far  dif- 
ferent from  these  flat  shores,  and  to  a  sort  of  boating  very 
different  from  this  summer  sailing.  Janet,  too  :  what  was  she 
thinking  of — far  away  in  Castle  Dare  1  Of  the  wild  morning 
on  which  she  insisted  on  crossing  to  one  of  the  Freshnist 
islands,  because  of  the  sick  child  of  a  shepherd  there  ;  and 
of  the  open  herring  smack,  and  she  sitting  on  the  ballast 
stones  ;  and  of  the  fierce  gale  of  wind  and  rain  that  hid  the 
island  from  their  sight ;  and  of  her  landing,  drenched  to  the 
skin,  and  with  the  salt-water  running  from  her  hair  and  down 
her  face  ? 

"  Now  for  lunch,"  said  Colonel  Ross  ;  and  they  went  be- 
low. 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  51 

The  bright  little  saloon  was  decorated  with  flowers  ;  the 
colored  glass  on  the  table  looked  pretty  enough  ;  here  was  a 
pleasant  break  in  the  monotony  of  the  day.  It  was  an  oc- 
casion, too,  for  assiduous  helpfulness,  and  gentle  inquiries, 
and  patient  attention.  They  forgot  about  the  various  chances 
of  the  yachts.  They  could  not  at  once  have  remembered  the 
name  of  the  favorite.  And  there  was  a  good  deal  of  laughter 
and  pleasant  chatting,  while  the  band  overhead  —  heard 
through  the  open  skylTght — still  played, 

"  O  this  is  no  my  ain  lassie, 
Kind  though  the  lassie  be." 

And  behold  !  when  they  went  up  on  deck  again  they  had 
got  ahead  of  all  the  yachts,  and  were  past  the  forts  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Medway,  and  were  out  on  an  open  space  of 
yellowish-green  water  that  showed  where  the  tide  of  the  sea 
met  the  current  of  the  river.  And  away  down  there  in  the 
south,  a  long  spur  of  land  ran  out  at  the  horizon,  and  the  sea 
immediately  under  was  still  and  glassy,  so  that  the  neck  of 
land  seemed  projected  into  the  sky — a  sort  of  gigantic  razor- 
fish  suspended  in  the  silvery  clouds.  Then,  to  give  the  yachts 
time  to  overtake  them,  they  steamed  over  to  a  mighty  iron- 
clad that  lay  at  anchor  there  ;  and  as  they  came  near  her  vast 
black  bulk  they  lowered  their  flag,  and  the  band  played 
*'  Rule,  Britannia."  The  salute  was  returned  ;  the  officer  on 
the  high  quarterdeck  raised  his  cap  ;  they  steamed  on. 

In  due  course  of  time  they  reached  the  Nore  lightship, 
and  there  they  lay  and  drifted  about  until  the  yachts  should 
come  up.  Long  distances  now  separated  that  summer  fleet ; 
but  as  they  came  along,  lying  well  over  before  the  brisk 
breeze,  it  was  obvious  that  the  spaces  of  time  between  the 
combatants  would  not  be  great.  And  is  not  this  Miss  White's 
vessel,  the  favorite  in  the  betting,  that  comes  sheering  through 
the  water,  with  white  foam  at  her  bows  .-*  Surely  she  is  mere 
than  her  time  allowance  ahead  1  And  on  this  tack  will  she 
get  clear  round  the  ruddy  little  lightship,  or  is  there  not  a 
danger  of  her  carr}dng  off  a  bowsprit  ?  With  what  an  ease 
and  majesty  she  comes  along,  scarcely  dipping  to  the  slight 
summer  waves,  while  they  on  board  notice  that  she  has  put 
out  her  long  spinnaker  boom,  ready  to  hoist  a  great  ballooner 
as  soon  as  she  is  round  the  lightship  and  running  home  be- 
fore the  wind.  The  speed  at  which  she  cuts  the  water  is 
now  visible  enough  as  she  obscures  for  a  second  or  so  the 


52 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


hull  of  the  lightship.  In  another  second  she  has  sheered 
round ;  and  then  the  great  spinnaker  bulges  out  with  the 
breeze,  and  away  she  goes  up  the  river  again.  Chronometers 
are  in  request.  It  is  only  a  matter  of  fifty  seconds  that  the 
nearest  rival,  now  coming  sweeping  along,  has  to  make  up. 
But  what  is  this  that  happens  just  as  the  enemy  has  got 
round  the  Nore  t  There  is  a  cry  of  "  Man  overboard  !  "  The 
spinnaker  boom  has  caught  the  careless  skipper  and  pitched 
him  clean  into  the  plashing  waters,  where  he  floats  about,  not 
as  yet  certain,  probably,  what  course  his  vessel  will  take, 
She  at  once  brings  her  head  up  to  wind  and  puts  about ;  but 
meanwhile  a  small  boat  from  the  lightship  has  picked  up  the 
unhappy  skipper,  and  is  now  pulling  hard  to  strike  the  course 
of  the  yacht  on  her  new  tack.  In  another  minute  or  two  he 
is  on  board  again ;  and  away  she  goes  for  home. 

"  I  think  you  have  won  the  sweepstakes,  Miss  White," 
Macleod  said.     "  Your  enemy  has  lost  eight  minutes." 

She  was  not  thinking  of  sweepstakes.  She  seemed  to 
have  been  greatly  frightened  by  the  accident. 

"  It  would  have  been  so  dreadful  to  see  a  man  drowned 
before  your  eyes — in  the  midst  of  a  mere  holiday  excursion." 
"  Drowned  ?  "  he  cried.     "  There  t     If  a  sailor  lets  him- 
self get  drowned  in  this  water,  with  all  these  boats  about,  he 
deserves  it." 

"  But  there  are  many  sailors  who  cannot  swim  at  all." 
"  More  shame  for  them,"  said  he. 

"Why,  Sir  Keith,"  said  Mrs.  Ross,  laughing,  "do  you 
think  that  all  people  have  been  brought  up  to  an  amphibious 
life  like  yourself  ?  I  suppose  in  your  country,  what  with  the 
rain  and  the  mist,  you  seldom  know  whether  you  are  on  sea 
or  shore." 

"  That  is  quite  true,"  said  he,  gravely.  "  And  the  chil- 
dren are  all  born  with  fins.  And  we  can  hear  the  mermaids 
singing  all  day  long.  And  when  we  want  to  go  anywhere, 
we  get  on  the  back  of  a  dolphin." 

But  he  looked  at  Gertrude  White.  What  would  she  say 
about  that  far  land  that  she  had  shown  such  a  deep  interest 
in  ?  There  was  no  raillery  at  all  in  her  low  voice  as  she  spoke. 
"  I  can  very  well  understand,"  she  said,  "  how  the  peo- 
ple there  fancied  they  heard  the  mermaids  singing — amidst 
so  much  mystery,  and  with  the  awfulness  of  the  sea  around 
them." 

"  But  we  have  had  living  singers,"  said  Macleod,  "  and 
that  among  the  Macleods,  too.     The  most  famous  of  all  the 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


S3 


song-writers  of  the  Western  Highlands  was  Mary  Macleod, 
that  was  born  in  Harris — Mairi  Nighean  Alasdair  ruaidh, 
they  called  her,  that  is,  Mary,  the  daughter  of  Red  Alister. 
Macleod  of  Dunvegan,  he  wished  her  not  to  make  any  more 
songs  ;  but  she  could  not  cease  the  making  of  songs.  And 
there  was  another  Macleod — Fionaghal,  they  called  her,  that 
is,  the  Fair  Stranger.  I  do  not  know  why  they  called  her  the 
Fair  Stranger — perhaps  she  came  to  the  Highlands  from 
some  distant  place.  And  I  think  if  you  were  going  among 
the  people  there  at  this  very  day,  they  would  call  you  the 
Fair  Stranger." 

He  spoke  quite  naturally  and  thoughtlessly:  his  eyes  met 
hers  only  for  a  second ;  he  did  not  notice  the  soft  touch  of 
pink  that  suffused  the  delicately  tinted  cheek. 

"  What  did  you  say  was  the  name  of  that  mysterious  stran- 
ger }  "  asked  Mrs.  Ross — "  that  poetess  from  unknown 
lands  ?  " 

*'  Fionaghal,"  he  answered. 
She  turned  to  her  husband. 

"  Hugh,"  she  said,  "  let  me  introduce  you  to  our  myster- 
ious guest.  This  is  Fionaghal — this  is  the  Fair  Stranger 
from  the  islands — this  is  the  poetess  whose  melodies  the 
mermaids  have  picked  up.     If  she  only  had  a  harp,  now — 

— with  seaweed  hanging  from  it — and  an  oval  mirror " 

The  booming  of  a  gun  told  them  that  the  last  yacht  had 
rounded  the  lightship.  The  band  struck  up  a  lively  air,  and 
presently  the  steamer  was  steaming  off  in  the  wake  of  the 
procession  of  yachts.  There  was  now  no  more  fea,r  that  Miss 
White  should  be  late.  The  breeze  had  kept  up  well,  and  had 
now  shifted  a  point  to  the  east,  so  that  the  yachts,  with  their 
great  ballooners,  were  running  pretty  well  before  the  wind. 
The  lazy  abandonment  of  the  day  became  more  complete  than 
ever.  Careless  talk  and  laughter ;  an  easy  curiosity  about 
the  fortunes  of  the  race  ;  tea  in  the  saloon,  with  the  making 
up  of  two  bouquets  of  white  roses,  sweet-peas,  fuchias,  and 
'erns — the  day  passed  lightly  and  swiftly  enough.  It  was  a 
iimmer  day,  full  of  pretty  trifles.  Macleod,  surrendering  to 
he  fascination,  began  to  wonder  what  life  would  be  if  it  were 
all  a  show  of  June  colors  and  a  sound  of  dreamy  music  :  for 
one  thing,  he  could  not  imagine  this  sensitive,  beautiful,  pale, 
fine  creature  otherwise  than  as  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere 
of  delicate  attentions  and  pretty  speeches,  and  sweet,  low 
laughter. 

They  got  into  their  special  train  again  at  Gravesend,  and 


54  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

were  whirled  up  to  London.  At  Charing  Cross  he  bade 
good-bye  to  Miss  White,  who  was  driven  off  by  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Ross  along  with  their  other  guest.  In  the  light  of  the  clear 
June  evening  he  walked  rather  absently  up  to  his  rooms. 

There  was  a  letter  lying  on  the  table.  He  seized  it  and 
opened  it  with  gladness.  It  was  from  his  cousin  Janet,  and 
the  mere  sight  of  it  seemed  to  revive  him  like  a  gust  of  keen 
wind  from  the  sea.  What  had  she  to  say  ?  About  the  grum- 
bling of  Donald,  who  seemed  to  have  no  more  pride  in  his 
pipes,  now  the  master  was  gone  }  About  the  anxiety  of  his 
mother  over  the  reports  of  the  keepers  ?  About  the  upset- 
ting of  a  dog-cart  on  the  road  to  Lochbuy  ?  He  had  half  re- 
solved to  go  to  the  theatre  again  that  evening^ — getting,  if 
possible,  into  some  corner  where  he  might  pursue  his  pro- 
found pyschological  investigations  unseen — but  now  he 
thought  he  would  not  ^o.  He  would  spend  the  evening  in 
writing  a  long  letter  to  his  cousin,  telling  her  and  the  mother 
about  all  the  beautiful,  fine,  gay,  summer  life  he  had  seen  in 
London —  so  different  from  anything  they  could  have  seen 
in  Fort  William,  or  Inverness,  or  even  in  Edinburgh.  After 
dinner  he  sat  down  to  this  agreeable  task.  What  had  he  to 
write  about  except  brilliant  rooms,  and  beautiful  flowers,  and 
costumes  such  as  would  have  made  Janet's  eyes  wide — of  all 
the  delicate  luxuries  of  life,  and  happy  idleness,  and  the  care- 
less enjoyment  of  people  whose  only  thought  was  about  a 
new  pleasure  1  He  gave  a  minute  description  of  all  the  places 
he  had  been  to  see — except  the  theatre.  He  mentioned  the 
names  of  the  people  who  had  been  kind  to  him  ;  but  he  said 
nothing  about  Gertrude  White. 

Not  that  she  was  altogether  absent  from  his  thoughts. 
Sometimes  his  fancy  fled  away  from  the  sheet  of  paper  before 
him,  and  saw  strange  things.  Was  this  Fionaghal  the  Fair 
Stranger — this  maiden  who  had  come  over  the  seas  to  the 
dark  shores  of  the  isles — this  king's  daughter  clad  in  white, 
with  her  yellow  hair  down  to  her  waist  and  bands  of  gold  on 
her  wrists  ?  And  what  does  she  sing  to  the  lashing  waves  but 
songs  of  high  courage,  and  triumph,  and  welcome  to  her  brave 
lover  coming  home  with  plunder  through  the  battling  seas? 
Her  lips  areparted  with  her  singing,  but  her  glance  is  bold  and 
keen  :  she  has  the  spirit  of  a  king's  daughter,  let  her  come 
from  whence  she  may. 

Or  is  Fionaghal  the  F^i'^r  Stranger  this  poorly  dressed  lass 
who  boils  the  potatoes  over  the  rude  peat  fire,  and  croons 
ber  songs  of  suffering  and  of  the  cruel  drowning  in  the  seas, 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


55 


SO  that  from  hut  to  hut  they  carry  her  songs,  and  the  old 
wives'  tears  start  afresh  to  think  of  their  brave  sons  lost  years 
and  years  ago  ? 

Neither  Fionaghal  is  she — this  beautiful,  pale  woman,  with 
her  sweet,  modern  English  speech,  and  her  delicate,  sensi- 
tive ways,  and  her  hand  that  might  be  crushed  like  a  rose 
leaf.  There  is  a  shimmer  of  summer  around  her ;  flowers 
lie  in  her  lap ;  tender  observances  encompass  and  shelter 
her.  Not  for  her  the  biting  winds  of  the  northern  seas  ;  but 
rather  the  soft  luxurious  idleness  of  placid  waters,  and  blue 
skies,  and  shadowy  shores  .  .  .  Rose  Leaf!  Rose  Leaf  J  what 
faint  wind  will  larry  you  away  to  the  south  i 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   DUCHESS   OF   DEVONSHIRE. 

Late  one  night  a  carefully  dressed  elderly  gentleman  ap- 
plied his  latch-key  to  the  door  of  a  house  in  Bury  Street,  St. 
James's,  and  was  about  to  enter  without  any  great  circum- 
spection, when  he  was  suddenly  met  by  a  'v\rhite  phantom, 
which  threw  him  off  his  legs,  and  dashed  outward  into  the 
street.  The  language  that  the  elderly  gentleman  used,  as  he 
picked  himself  up,  need  not  be  repeated  here.  Suffice  it  to 
say  that  the  white  phantom  was  the  dog  Oscar,  who  had 
been  shut  in  a  minute  before  by  his  master,  and  who  now, 
after  one  or  two  preliminary  dashes  up  and  down  the  street, 
very  soon  perceived  the  tall  figure  of  Macleod,  and  made 
joyfully  after  him.  But  Oscar  knew  that  he  had  acted  wrong- 
ly, and  was  ashamed  to  show  himself;  so  he  quietly  slunk 
along  at  his  master's  heels.  The  consequence  of  this  was 
that  the  few  loiterers  about  beheld  the  very  unusual  spectacle 
of  a  tall  young  gentleman  walking  down  Bury  Street  and  in- 
to King  Street,  dressed  in  full  Highland  costume,  and  fol- 
lowed by  a  white-and-lemon  collie.  No  other  person  going 
to  the  Caledonian  fancy-dress  ball  was  so  attended. 

Macleod  made  his  way  through  the  carriages,  crossed  the 
pavement,  and  entered  the  passage.  Then  he  heard  some 
scuffling  behind,  and  he  turned. 

"  Let  alone  my  dog,  you  fellow  !  "  said  he,  making  a  step 


^6  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

forward,  for  the  man  had  got  hold  of  Oscar  by  the  head,  and 
was  hauling  him  out. 

"  Is  it  your  dog,  sii  ?  "  said  he. 

Oscar  himself  answered  by  wrestling  himself  free  and 
taking  reluge  by  his  master's  legs,  though  he  still  looked 
guilty. 

"  Yes,  he  is  my  dog  ;  and  a  nice  fix  he  has  got  me  into," 
snid  Macleod,  standing  aside  to  let  the  Empress  Maria  The- 
resa pass  by  in  her  resplendent  costume.  "  I  suppose  I  must 
walk  home  with  him  again.     Oscar,  Oscar,  how  dare  you .? " 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  said  a  juvenile  voice  behind  him, 

"  if  Mr. will  let  me,  I  will  take  the  dog.     I  know  where 

to  tie  him  up." 

Macleod  turned. 

"  Co  an  so  1  "  said  he,  looking  down  at  the  chubby-faced 
boy  in  the  kilts,  who  had  his  pipes  under  his  arm.  "  Don't 
yon  know  the  Gaelic  ?  " 

"  I  am  only  learning,"  said  the  young  musician.  "  Will 
I  take  the  dog,  sir  ?  '* 

"  March  along,  then,  Phiobaire  bhig ! "  Macleod  said. 
"  He  will  follow  me,  if  he  will  not  follow  you." 

Little  Piper  turned  aside  into  a  large  hall  which  had  been 
transformed  into  a  sort  of  waiting-room ;  and  here  Macleod 
found  himself  in  the  presence  of  a  considerable  number  of 
children,  half  of  them  girls,  half  of  them  boys,  all  dressed  in 
tartan,  and  seated  on  the  forms  along  the  walls.  The  chil- 
dren, who  were  half  asleep  at  this  time  of  the  night,  woke  up 
with  sudden  interest  at  sight  of  the  beautiful  collie  ;  and  at 
the  same  moment  Little  Piper  explained  to  the  gentleman 
who  was  in  charge  of  these  young  ones  that  the  dog  had  to 
be  tied  up  somewhere,  and  that  a  small  adjoining  room 
would  answer  that  purpose.  The  proposal  was  •  most  cour- 
teously entertained.     Macleod,  Mr. ,  and  Little  Piper 

walked  along  to  this  side  room,  and  there  Oscar  was  properly 
secured. 

"  And  I  will  get  him  some  water,  sir,  if  he  wants  it,"  said 
the  boy  in  the  kilts. 

"  Very  well,"  Macleod  said.  "  And  I  will  give  you  my 
thanks  for  it ;  for  that  is  all  that  a  Highlander,  and  especially 
a  piper,  expects  for  a  kindness.  And  I  hope  you  will  learn 
the  Gaelic  soon,  my  boy.  And  do  you  know  *  Cumhadh  na 
Cloinne  ? '  No,  it  is  too  difficult  for  you  ;  but  I  think  if  I 
had  the  chanter  between  my  fingers  myself,  I  could  let  you 
hear  *  Cumhadh  na  Cloinne." 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


57 


"  I  am  sure  John  Maclean  can  play  it,"  said  the  small 
piper. 

"  Who  is  he  ? " 

The  gentleman  in  charge  of  the  youngsters  explained 
that  John  Maclean  was  the  eldest  of  the  juvenile  pipers,  five 
others  of  whom  were  in  attendance. 

"  I  think,"  said  Macleod,  "  that  I  am  coming  down  in  a 
little  time  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  your  young  pipers,  if 
you  will  let  me." 

He  passed  up  the  broad  staircase  and  into  the  empty 
supper-room,  from  which  a  number  of  entrances  showed  him 
the  strange  scene  being  enacted  in  the  larger  hall.  Who 
were  these  people  who  were  moving  to  the  sound  of  rapid 
music  ?  A  clown  in  a  silken  dress  of  many  colors,  with  bells 
to  his  cap  and  wrists,  stood  at  one  of  the  doors.  Macleod 
became  his  fellow-spectator  of  what  was  going  forward.  A 
beautiful  Tyrolienne,  in  a  dress  of  black,  silver,  and  velvet, 
with  her  yellow  hair  hanging  in  two  plaits  down  her  back, 
passed  into  the  room,  accompanied  by  Charles  the  First  in  a 
large  wig  and  cloak  ;  and  the  next  moment  they  were  whirl- 
ing along  in  the  waltz,  coming  into  innumerable  collisions 
with  all  the  celebrated  folk  who  ever  lived  in  history.  And 
who  were  these  gentlemen  in  the  scarlet  collars  and  cuffs, 
who  but  for  these  adornments  would  have  been  in  ordinary 
evening  dress  ?  he  made  bold  to  ask  the  friendly  clown,  who 
was  staring  in  a  pensive  manner  at  the  rushing  couples. 

"  They  call  it  the  Windsor  uniform,"  said  the  clown.  "  2 
think  it  mean.  I  sha'n't  come  in  a  fancy  dress  again,  if 
stitching  on  a  red  collar  will  do." 

At  this  moment  the  waltz  came  to  an  end,  and  the  people 
began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  spacious  apartment.  Mac- 
leod entered  the  throng  to  look  about  him.  And  soon  he 
perceived,  in  one  of  the  little  stands  at  the  side  of  the  hall, 
the  noble  lady  who  had  asked  him  to  go  to  this  assembly, 
and  forthwith  he  made  his  way  through  the  crowd  to  her. 
He  was  most  graciously  received. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  a  secret.  Lady ?  "  said  he.     "  You 

know  the  children  belonging  to  the  charity  ;  they  are  all  be- 
low, and  they  are  sitting  doing  nothing,  and  they  are  all  very 
tired  and  half  asleep.  It  is  a  shame  to  keep  them  there " 

"  But  the  Prince  hasn't  come  yet ;  and  they  must  be 
marched  round  :  they  show  that  we  are  not  making  fools  of 
ourselves  for  nothing." 

A  sharper  person  than  Macleod  might  have  got  in  a  pretty 


58  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

compliment  here  :  for  this  lady  was  charmingly  dressed  as 
Flora  Macdonald ;  but  he  merely  said  : — 

"  Very  well ;  perhaps  it  is  necessary.  But  I  think  I  can 
get  them  some  amusement,  if  you  will  only  keep  the  director 

of  them,  that  is,  Mr ,  out  of  the  way.     Now  shall  I  send 

hiia  to  you  ?     Will  you  talk  to  him  ?  " 

*'  What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  give  them  a  dance.  Why  should  you  have 
all  the  dancing  up  here  ?  '* 

"  Mind,  I  am  not  responsible.  What  shall  I  talk  to  him 
about  ?  " 

Macleod  considered  for  a  moment. 

"  Tell  him  that  I  will  take  the  whole  of  the  girls  and 
boys  to  the  Crystal  Palace  for  a  day,  if  it  is  permissable  ;  and 
ask  him  what  it  will  cost,  and  all  about  the  arrangements." 

"  Seriously  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Why  not  ?  They  can  have  a  fine  run  in  the 
grounds,  and  six  pipers  to  T^lay  for  them.  I  will  ask  them 
now  whether  they  will  go." 

He  left  and  went  downstairs.  He  had  seen  but  few  peo- 
ple in  the  hall  above  whom  he  knew.  He  was  not  fond  of 
dancing,  though  he  knew  the  elaborate  variations  of  the  reel. 
And  here  was  a  bit  of  practical  amusement. 

"  Oh,  Mr. ,''  said  he,  with  great  seriousness,  "  I  am 

desired  by  Lady to  say  that  she  would  like  to  see  you 

for  a  moment  or  two.  She  wishes  to  ask  you  some  questions 
about  your  young  people." 

"The  Prince  may  come  at  any  moment,"  said  Mr. 

doubtfully. 

"  He  won't  be  in  such  a  hurry  as  all  that,  surely." 

So  the  worthy  man  went  upstairs ;  and  the  moment  he 
was  gone  Macleod  shut  the  door. 

"  Now,  you  piper  boys  !  "  he  called  aloud,  "  get  up  and 
play  us  a  reel.  We  are  going  to  have  a  dance.  You  are  all 
asleep,  I  believe.  Come,  girls  stand  up.  You  that  know  the 
reel,  you  will  keep  to  this  end.  Boys,  come  out.  You  that 
can  dance  a  reel,  come  to  this  end ;  the  others  will  soon  pick 
it  up.  Now,  piper  boys,  have  you  got  the  steam  up  t  What 
can  you  give  us,  now  ?  '  Monymusk  ? '  or  the  '  Marquis  of 
Huntley's  Fling  ? '  or  *  Miss  Johnston  ? '  Nay,  stay  a  bit. 
Don't  you  know  *  Mrs.  Macleod  of  Raasay  ? '  " 

"  Yes,"  "  Yes,"  "  Yes,"  "  Yes,"  "  Yes,"  "  Yes,"  came  from 
the  six  pipers,  all  standing  in  a  row,  with  the  drones  over 
their  shoulders  and  the  chanters  in  their  fingers. 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


59 


"  Very  well,  then — off  you  go  !  Now,  boys  and  girls,  are 
you  all  ready  ?     Pipers,  'Mrs.  Macleod  of  Raasay  !  " 

For  a  second  there  was  a  confused  roaring  on  the  long 
drones ;  then  the  shrill  chanters  broke  clear  away  into 
the  wild  reel ;  and  presently  the  boys  and  girls,  who  were  at 
first  laughingly  shy  and  embarrassed,  began  to  make  such  im- 
itations of  the  reel  figure,  which  they  had  seen  often  enough, 
as  led  to  a  vast  amount  of  scrambling  and  jollity,  if  it  was  not 
particularly  accurate.  The  most  timid  of  the  young  ones  soon 
picked  up  courage.  Here  and  there  one  of  the  older  boys 
gave  a  whoop  that  would  have  done  justice  to  a  wedding 
dance  in  a  Highland  barn. 

"  Put  your  lungs  into  it,  pipers  ! "  Macleod  cried  out, 
"  Well  played,  boys  !     You  are  fit  to  play  before  a  prince  ?  " 

The  round  cheeks  of  the  boys  were  red  with  their  blow- 
ing ;  they  tapped  their  toes  on  the  ground  as  proudly  as  if 
every  one  of  them  was  a  MacCruimin  ;  the  wild  noise  in  this 
big,  empty  hall  grew  more  furious  than  ever — when  suddenly 
there  was  an  awful  silence.  The  pipers  whipped  the  chan- 
ters from  their  mouths  ;  the  children,  suddenly  stopping  in 
their  merriment,  cast  one  awestruck  glance  at  the  door,  and 
then  slunk  back  to  their  seats.  They  had  observed  not  only 
Mr.  — ■ — ,  but  also  the  Prince  himself.  Macleod  was  left 
standing  alone  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

"  Sir  Keith  Macleod  ?  "  said  his  Royal  Highness,  with  a 
smile. 

Macleod  bowed  low. 

"  Lady told  me  what  you  were  about.     I  thought  we 

could  have  had  a  peep  unobserved,  or  we  should  not  have 
broken  in  on  the  romp  of  the  children." 

"  I  think  your  Royal  Highness  could  make  amends  for 
that,"  said  Macleod. 

There  was  an  inquiring  glance. 

"  If  your  Royal  Highness  would  ask  some  one  to  see  that 
each  of  the  children  has  an  orange,  and  a  tart,  and  a  shilling, 
it  would  be  some  compensation  to  them  for  being  kept  up  so 
late." 

"  I  think  that  might  be  done,"  said  the  Prince,  as  he 
turned  to  leave.  "  And  I  am  glad  to  have  made  your  ac- 
quaintance, although  in — " 

"  In  the  character  of  a  dancing-master,"  said  Macleod, 
gravely. 

After  having  once  more  visited  Oscar,  in  the  company  of 
Phiobaire  bhig,  Macleod  went  up  again  to  the  brilliantly  lit 


6o  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

hall ;  and  here  he  found  that  a  further  number  of  his  friends 
had  arrived.  Among  them  was  young  Ogilvie,  in  the  tartan  of 
the  Ninety-third  Highlanders  ;  and  very  smart  indeed  the 
boy-officer  looked  in  his  uniform.  Mrs.  Ross  was  here  too 
and  she  was  busy  in  assisting  to  get  up  the  Highland  quad- 
rille. When  she  asked  Macleod  if  he  would  join  in  it,  he 
answered  by  asking  her  to  be  his  partner,  as  he  would  be 
ashamed  to  display  his  ignorance  before  an  absolute  stranger. 
Mrs.  Ross  most  kindly  undertook  to  pilot  him  through  the 
not  elaborate  intricacies  of  the  dance  ;  and  they  were  for- 
tunate in  having  the  set  made  up  entirely  of  their  own 
friends. 

Then  the  procession  of  the  children  took  place  ;  and  the 
fantastically  dressed  crowd  formed  a  lane  to  let  the  homely- 
clad  lads  and  lasses  pass  along,  with  the  six  small  pipers 
proudly  playing  a  march  at  their  head. 

He  stopped  the  last  of  the  children  for  a  second. 

"  Have  you  got  a  tart,  and  an  orange,  and  a  shilling  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  I  have  got  the  word  of  a  prince  for  it,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, as  he  went  out  of  the  room  ;  "  and  they  shall  not  go 
home  with  empty  pockets." 

As  he  was  coming  up  the  staircase  again  to  the  ballroom 
he  was  preceded  by  two  figures  that  were  calculated  to  at- 
tract any  one's  notice  by  the  picturesqueness  of  their  costume. 
The  one  stranger  was  apparently  an  old  man,  who  was  dress- 
ed in  a  Florentine  costume  of  the  fourteenth  century — a  cloak 
of  sombre  red,  with  a  flat  cap  of  black  velvet,  one  long  tail 
of  which  was  thrown  over  the  left  shoulder  and  hung  down 
behind.  A  silver  collar  hung  from  his  neck  across  his 
breast :  other  ornament  there  was  none.  His  companion, 
however,  drew  all  eyes  toward  her  as  the  two  passed  into  the 
ball-room.  She  was  dressed  in  imitation  of  Gainsborough's 
portrait  of  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire  ;  and  her  symmetrical 
figure  and  well-poised  head  admirably  suited  the  long  trained 
costume  of  blue  satin,  with  \\.s  fichu  of  white  muslin,  the  bold 
coquettish  hat  and  feathers,  and  the  powdered  puffs  and  curls 
that  descended  to  her  shoulders.  She  had  a  gay  air  with  her, 
too.  She  bore  her  head  proudly.  The  patches  on  her  cheek 
seemed  not  half  so  black  as  the  blackness  of  her  eyes,  so  full 
of  a  dark  mischievous  light  were  they ;  and  the  redness  of 
the  lips — a  trifle  artificial,  no  doubt — as  she  smiled  seemed 
to  add  to  the  glittering  whiteness  of  her  teeth.     The  proud, 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  6 1 

laughing,  gay  coquette  :  no  wonder  all  eyes  were  for  a  mo- 
ment turned  to  her,  in  envy  or  in  admiration. 

Macleod,  following  these  two,  and  finding  that  his  old 
companion,  the  pensive  clown  in  cap  and  bells,  was  still  at 
his  post  of  observation  at  the  door,  remained  there  also  for  a 
minute  or  two,  and  noticed  that  among  the  first  to  recognize 
the  two  strangers  was  young  Ogilvie,  who  with  laughing  sur- 
prise in  his  face,  came  forward  to  shake  hands  with  them. 
Then  there  was  some  further  speech;  the  band  began  to  play 
a  gentle  and  melodious  waltz  ;  the  middle  of  the  room  cleared 
somewhat ;  and  presently  her  Grace  of  Devonshire  was 
whirled  away  by  the  young  Highland  officer,  her  broad- 
brimmed  hat  rather  overshadowing  him,  notwithstanding  the 
pronounced  colors  of  his  plaid.  Macleod  could  not  help  fol- 
lowing this  couple  with  his  eyes  whithersoever  they  went. 
In  any  part  of  the  rapidly  moving  crowd  he  could  always 
make  out  that  one  figure  ;  and  once  or  twice  as  they  passed 
him  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  brilliant  beauty,  with  her 
powdered  hair,  and  her  flashing  bright  eyes,  and  her  merry 
lips,  regarded  him  for  an  instant ;  and  then  he  could  have 
imagined  that  in  a  by-gone  century — 

"  Sir  Keith  Macleod,  I  think  ?  " 

The  old  gentleman  with  the  grave  and  scholarly  cap  of 
black  velvet  and  the  long  cloak  of  sober  red  held  out  his  hand. 
The  folds  of  the  velvet  hanging  down  from  the  cap  rather 
shadowed  his  face  ;  but  all  the  same  Macleod  instantly  rec- 
ognized him — fixing  the  recognition  by  means  of  the  gold 
spectacles. 

"  Mr.  White  .?  "  said  he. 

"  I  am  more  disguised  than  you  are,"  the  old  gentleman 
said,  with  a  smile.  "  It  is  a  foolish  notion  of  my  daughter's  ; 
but  she  would  have  me  come." 

His  daughter  !  Macleod  turned  in  a  bewildered  way  to 
that  gay  crowd  under  the  brilliant  lights. 

"  Was  that  Miss  White  ? "  said  he. 

"  The  Duchess  of  Devonshire.  Didn't  you  recognize  her  ? 
I  am  afraid  she  will  be  very  tired  to-morrow ;  but  she  would 
come," 

He  caught  sight  of  her  again — that  woman,  with  the  dark 
eyes  full  of  fire,  and  the  dashing  air,  and  the  audacious  smile  ! 
He  could  have  believed  this  old  man  to  be  mad.  Or  was  he 
only  the  father  of  a  witch,  of  an  illusive  Igtiis  fatuus^  of  some 
mocking  Ariel  darting  into  a  dozen  shapes  to  make  fool^  o: 
the  poor  simple  souls  of  earth  ? 


62  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"  No,"  he  stammered,  "  I — I  did  not  recognize  her.  I 
thought  the  lady  who  came  with  you  had  intensely  dark  eyes." 

"  She  is  said  to  be  very  clever  in  making  up,"  her  father 
said,  coolly  and  sententiously.  "  It  is  a  part  of  her  art  that 
is  not  to  be  despised.  It  is  quite  as  important  as  a  gesture 
or  a  tone  of  voice  in  creating  the  illusion  at  which  she  aims. 
I  do  not  know  whether  actresses,  as  a  rule,  are  careless  about 
it,  or  only  clumsy  ;  but  they  rarely  succeed  in  making  their 
appearance  homogeneous.  A  trifle  too  much  here,  a  trifle 
too  little  there,  and  the  illusion  is  spoiled.  Then  you  see  a 
painted  woman — not  the  charactor  she  is  presenting.  Did 
you  observe  my  daughter's  eyebrows  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  did  not,"  said  Macleod,  humbly. 

"  Here  she  comes.     Look  at  them." 

But  how  could  he  look  at  her  eyebrows,  or  at  any  trick  of 
making  up,  when  the  whole  face,  with  its  new  excitement  of 
color,  its  parted  lips  and  lambent  eyes,  was  throwing  its  fas- 
cination upon  him  ?  She  came  forward  laughing,  and  yet 
with  a  certain  shyness.     He  would  fain  have  turned  away. 

The  Highlanders  are  superstitious.  Did  he  fear  being 
bewitched  1  Or  what  was  it  that  threw  a  certain  coldness 
over  his  manner  ?  The  fact  of  her  having  danced  with  young 
Ogilvie  ?  Or  the  ugly  reference  made  by  her  father  to  her 
eyebrows  ?  He  had  greatly  admired  this  painted  stranger 
when  he  thought  she  was  a  stranger ;  he  seemed  less  to  ad- 
mire the  artistic  make-up  of  Miss  Gertrude  White. 

The  merry  Duchess,  playing  her  part  admirably,  charmed 
all  eyes  but  his ;  and  yet  she  was  so  kind  as  to  devote  her- 
self to  her  father  and  him,  refusing  invitations  to  dance,  and 
chatting  to  them — with  those  brilliant  lips  smiling — about 
the  various  features  of  the  gay  scene  before  them.  Macleod 
avoided  looking  at  her  face. 

"  What  a  bonny  boy  your  friend  Mr.  Ogilvie  is ! "  said 
she,  glancing  across  the  room. 

He  did  not  answer. 

"  But  he  does  not  look  much  of  a  soldier,"  she  continued. 
"  I  don't  think  I  should  be  afraid  of  him  if  I  w^ere  a  man." 

He  answered,  somewhat  distantly  : — 

"  It  is  not  safe  to  judge  that  way,  especially  of  any  one 
of  Highland  blood.  If  there  is  fighting  in  his  blood,  he  will 
fight  when  the  proper  time  comes.  And  we  have  a  good 
Gaelic  saying — it  has  a  great  deal  of  meaning  in  it,  that  say- 
ing— *  You  do  not  know  what  sword  is  in  the  scabhafd  until  it 
is  drawn*  " 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  63 

"  What  did  you  say  was  the  proverb  ?  "  she  asked  ;  and  for 
a  second  her  eyes  met  his ;  but  she  immediately  withdrew 
them,  startled  by  the  cold  austerity  of  his  look. 

"  *  You  do  not  know  what  sword  is  in  the  scabbard  until  it 
is  drawn^'  "  said  he,  carelessly.  "  There  is  a  good  deal  of 
mear^ng  in  it." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

LAUREL   COTTAGE. 


A  SMALL,  quaint,  old-fashioned  house  in  South  Bank,  Re- 
gent's Park ;  two  maidens  in  white  in  the  open  veranda ; 
around  them  the  abundant  foliage  of  June,  unruffled  by  any 
breeze  ;  and  down  at  the  foot  of  the  steep  garden  the  still 
canal,  its  surface  mirroring  the  soft  translucent  greens  of  the 
trees  and  bushes  above,  and  the  gaudier  colors  of  a  barge 
lying  moored  on  the  northern  side.  The  elder  of  the  two 
girls  is  seated  in  a  rocking-chair ;  she  appears  to  have  been 
reading,  for  her  right  hand,  hanging  down,  still  holds  a  thin 
MS.  book  covered  with  coarse  brown  paper.  The  younger 
is  lying  at  her  feet,  with  her  head  thrown  back  in  her  sister's 
lap,  and  her  face  turned  up  to  the  clear  June  skies.  There 
are  some  roses  about  this  veranda,  and  the  still  air  is  sweet 
with  them. 

"  And  of  all  the  parts  you  ever  played  in,"  she  says, 
"  which  one  did  you  like  the  best  Gerty  ?  '* 

"  This  one,"  is  the  gentle  answer. 

"  What  one  ?  " 

"  Being  at  home  with  you  and  papa,  and  having  no  bother 
a"'  all,  and  nothing  to  think  of." 

**  I  don't  believe  it,"  says  the  other,  with  the  brutal  frank- 
ness of  thirteen.  "  You  couldn't  live  without  the  theatre, 
Gerty — and  the  newspapers  talking  about  you — and  people 
praising  you — and  bouquets " 

"  Couldn't  I  ? "  says  Miss  White,  with  a  smile,  as  she 
gently  lays  her  hand  on  her  sister's  curls. 

"  No,"  continues  the  wise  young  lady.  "  And  besides, 
this  pretty,  quiet  life  would  not  last.  You  would  have  to  give 
up  playing  that  part.     Papa  is  getting  very  old  now ;  and  he 


64  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

often  talks  about  what  may  happen  to  us.  And  you  know^ 
Gerty,  that  though  it  is  very  nice  for  sisters  to  say  they  will 
never  and  never  leave  each  other,  it  doesn't  come  off,  does 
it  ?  There  is  only  one  thing  I  see  for  you — and  that  is  to 
get  married." 

"  Indeed  ! " 

It  is  easy  to  fence  with  a  child's  prattle.  She  might  have 
amused  herself  by  encouraging  this  chatterbox  to  go  through 
the  list  of  their  acquaintances,  and  pick  out  a  goodly  choice 
of  suitors.  She  might  have  encouraged  her  to  give  expres- 
sion to  her  profound  views  of  the  chances  and  troubles  of 
life,  and  the  safeguards  that  timid  maidens  may  seek.  But 
she  suddenly  said,  in  a  highly  matter-of-fact  manner  : — 

"What  you  say  is  quite  true,  Carry,  and  I've  thought  of 
it  several  times.  It  is  a  very  bad  thing  for  an  actress  to  be 
left  without  a  father  or  husband,  or  brother,  as  her  ostensible 
guardian.  People  are  always  glad  to  hear  stories — and  to 
make  them — about  actresses.  You  would  be  no  good  at  all, 
Carry " 

"  Very  well,  then,"  the  younger  sister  said,  promptly, 
"you've  got  to  get  married.  And  to  a  rich  man,  too  ;  who 
will  buy  you  a  theatre,  and  let  you  do  what  you  like  in  it." 

Miss  Gertrude  White,  whatever  she  may  have  thought  of 
this  speech,  was  bound  to  rebuke  the  shockingly  mercenary 
ring  in  it." 

"  For  shame.  Carry  !  Do  you  think  people  marry  from 
such  motives  as  that .''  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Carry ;  but  she  had,  at  least, 
guessed. 

"  I  should  like  my  husband  to  have  money,  certainly," 
Miss  White  said,  frankly  ;  and  here  she  flung  the  MS.  book 
from  her  on  to  a  neighboring  chair.  "  I  should  like  to  be 
able  to  refuse  parts  that  did  not  suit  me.  I  should  like  to  be 
able  to  take  just  such  engagements  as  I  chose.  I  should 
Hke  10  go  to  Paris  for  a  whole  year,  and  study  hard " 

"  Your  husband  might  not  wish  you  to  remain  an  actress," 
said  Miss  Carry. 

"  Then  he  would  never  be  my  husband,"  the  elder  s'ster 
said,  with  decision.  "  I  have  not  worked  hard  for  nothing. 
Ju.>t  when  I  begin  to  think  I  can  do  something — when  I 
think  I  can  get  beyond  those  coquettish,  drawing-room,  sim- 
pering parts  that  people  run  after  now — just  when  the  very 
name  of  Mrs.  Siddons,  or  Rachael,  or  any  of  the  great  ac- 
tresses makes  my  heart  jump — when  I  have  ambition  and  a 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  65 

fair  chance,  and  all  that — do  you  think  I  am  to  give  the 
whole  thing  up,  and  sink  quietly  into  the  position  of  Mrs. 
Brown  or  Mrs.  Smith,  who  is  a  very  nice  lady,  no  doubt,  and 
very  respectable,  and  lives  a  quiet  and  orderly  life,  with  no 
greater  excitement  than  scheming  to  get  big  people  to  go  to 
her  garden  parties  ?  " 

She  certainly  seemed  very  clear  on  that  point. 

"  I  don't  see  that  men  are  so  ready  to  give  up  their  pro- 
fessions, when  they  marry,  in  order  to  devote  themselves  to 
domestic  life,  even  when  they  have  plenty  of  money.  Why 
should  all  the  sacrifice  be  on  the  side  of  the  woman  t  But  I 
know  if  I  have  to  choose  between  my  art  and  a  husband,  I 
shall  continue  to  do  without  a  husband." 

Miss  Carry  had  risen,  and  put  one  arm  round  her  sister's 
neck,  while  with  the  other  she  stroked  the  soft  brown  hair 
over  the  smooth  forehead. 

"  And  it  shall  not  be  taken  away  from  its  pretty  theatre, 
it  sha'n't !  "  said  she,  pettingly  ;  "  and  it  shall  not  be  asked 
to  go  away  with  any  great  ugly  Bluebeard,  and  be  shut  up  in 
a  lonely  house " 

"  Go  away,  Carry,"  said  she,  releasing  herself.  "  I  won- 
der why  you  began  talking  such  nonsense.  What  do  you 
know  about  all  those  things  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  very  well,"  said  the  child,  turning  away  with  a 
pout ;  and  she  pulled  a  rose  and  began  to  take  its  petals  off, 
one  by  one,  with  her  lips.  "  Perhaps  I  don't  know.  Perhaps 
I  haven't  studied  your  manoeuvres  on  the  stage,  Miss  Ger- 
trude White.  Perhaps  I  never  saw  the  newspapers  declar- 
ing that  it  was  all  so  very  natural  and  life-like."  She  flung  two 
or  three  rose  petals  at  her  sister.  "  I  believe  you're  the  big- 
gest flirt  that  ever  lived,  Gerty.  You  could  make  any  man 
you  liked  marry  you  in  ten  minutes." 

"  I  wish  I  could  manage  to  have  certain  schoolgirls 
v/hipped  and  sent  to  bed." 

At  this  moment  there  appeared  at  the  open  French  win- 
dow an  elderly  woman  of  Flemish  features  and  extraordinary 
breadth  of  bust. 

"  Shall  I  put  dressing  in  the  salad,  miss  ?  "  she  said,  with 
scarcely  any  trace  of  foreign  accent. 

"  Not  yet,  Marie,"  said  Miss  White.  "  I  will  make  the 
dressing  first.  Bring  me  a  large  plate,  and  the  cruet-stand, 
and  a  spoon  and  fork,  and  some  salt." 

Now  when  these  things  had  been  brought,  and  when  Miss 
White  had  se-t  about  preparing  this  salad  dressing  in  a  highly 


66  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

scientific  manner,  a  strange  thing  occurred.  Her  sister 
seemed  to  have  been  attacked  by  a  sudden  fit  of  madness. 
She  had  caught  up  a  light  shawl,  which  she  extended  from 
hand  to  hand,  as  if  she  were  dancing  with  some  one,  and  then 
she  proceeded  to  execute  a  slow  waltz  in  this  circumscribed 
space,  humming  the  improvised  music  in  a  mystical  and 
rhythmical  manner.  And  what  were  these  dark  utterances 
that  the  inspired  one  gave  forth,  as  she  glanced  from  time  to 
time  at  her  sister  and  the  plate  ? 

"  Oh,  a  Highlafid  lad  my  love  was  horn — and  the  Lo^vland 
laws  he  held  in  scorfi — " 

"  Carry,  don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself  !  "  said  the  other 
flushing  angrily. 

Carry  flung  her  imaginary  partner  aside. 

"  There  is  no  use  making  any  pretence,"  said  she, 
sharply.  "  You  know  quite  well  why  you  are  making  that 
salad  dressing." 

"  Did  you  never  see  me  make  salad  dressing  before  ? " 
said  the  other,  quite  as  sharply. 

"You  know  it  is  simply  because  Sir  Keith  Macleod  is 
coming  to  lunch.  I  forgot  all  about  it.  Oh,  and  that's  why 
you  had  the  clean  curtains  put  up  yesterday  ?  " 

What  else  had  this  precocious  brain  ferreted  out  ? 

"  Yes,  and  that's  why  you  bought  papa  a  new  necktie," 
continued  the  tormenter  ;  and  then  she  added,  triumphantly, 
**  Btit  he  hasn't  put  it  on  this  morning,  ha — Gerty  1 " 

A  calm  and  dignified  silence  is  the  best  answer  to  the 
fiendishness  of  thirteen.  Miss  White  went  on  with  the  mak- 
ing of  the  salad-dressing.  She  was  considered  very  clever  at 
it.  Her  father  had  taught  her  :  but  he  never  had  the  patience 
to  carry  out  his  own  precepts.  Besides,  brute  force  is  not 
wanted  for  the  work  :  what  you  want  is  the  self-denying  as^* 
siduity  and  the  dexterous  light-handedness  of  a  woman. 

A  smart  young  maid-servant,  very  trimly  dressed,  made 
her  appearance. 

"  Sir  Keith  Macleod,  miss,"  said  she. 

"  Oh,  Gerty,  you're  caught !  "  muttered  the  fiend. 

But  Miss  White  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  The  small 
white  fingers  plied  the  fork  without  a  tremor. 

"  Ask  him  to  step  this  way,  please,"  she  said. 

And  then  the  subtle  imagination  of  this  demon  of  th'rteen 
jumped  to  another  conclusion. 

**  Oh,  Gerty,  you  want  to  show  him  that  you  are  a  gcod 
honsekeeper — that  you  can  make  salad " 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  67 

But  the  imp  was  silenced  by  the  appearance  of  Macleod 
himself.  He  looked  tall  as  he  came  through  the  small  draw- 
ing-room. When  he  came  out  onto  the  balcony  the  languid  air 
of  the  place  seemed  to  acquire  a  fresh  and  brisk  vitality :  he 
had  a  bright  smile  and  a  resonant  voice. 

"  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  bringing  you  a  little  present, 
Miss  White — no,  it  is  a  large  present — that  reached  me  this 
morning."  said  he.  "  I  want  you  to  see  one  of  our  Highland 
salmon.  He  is  a  splendid  fellow — twenty -six  pounds  four 
ounces,  my  landlady  says.  My  cousin  Janet  sent  him  to 
me." 

"  Oh,  but.  Sir  Keith,  we  cannot  rob  you,"  Miss  White 
said,  as  she  still  demurely  plied  her  fork.  "  If  there  is  any 
special  virtue  in  a  Highland  salmon,  it  will  be  best  appreci- 
ated by  yourself,  rather  than  by  those  who  don't  know." 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  he,  "  people  are  so  kind  to  me  that  I 
scarcely  ever  am  allowed  to  dine  at  my  lodgings  ;  and  you 
know  the  salmon  should  be  cooked  at  once." 

Miss  Carry  had  been  making  a  face  behind  his  back  to 
annoy  her  sister.  She  now  came  forward  and  said,  with  a 
charming  innocence  in  her  eyes  : — 

"  I  don't  think  you  can  have  it  cooked  for  luncheon, 
Gerty,  for  that  would  look  too  much  like  bringing  your  tea  in 
your  pocket,  and  getting  hot  water  for  twopence.  Wouldn't 
it  ?  " 

Macleod  turned  and  regarded  this  new-comer  with  an  un- 
mistakable "  Who  is  this  ?  " — Co  an  so  ?  " — in  his  air. 

"  Oh,  that  is  my  sister  Carry,  Sir  Keith,"  said  Miss  White. 
"  I  forgot  you  had  not  seen  her." 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  '*  said  he,  in  a  kindly  way  ;  and  for  a 
second  he  put  his  hand  on  the  light  curls  as  her  father  might 
have  done.     "  I  suppose  you  like  having  holidays  ? " 

From  that  moment  she  became  his  deadly  enemy.  To  be 
patted  on  the  head,  as  if  she  were  a  child,  an  infant — and 
that  in  the  presence  of  the  sister  whom  she  had  just  been 
lecturing. 

"  Yes,  thank  you,"  said  she,  with  a  splendid  dignity,  as 
she  proudly  walked  off.  She  went  into  the  small  lobby  lead- 
ing to  the  door.  She  called  to  the  little  maid-servant.  She 
looked  at  a  certain  long  bag  made  of  matting  which  lay 
ihere,  some  bits  of  grass  sticking  out  of  one  end.  "  Jane, 
take  this  thing  down  to  the  cellar  at  once  !  The  whole  house 
smells  of  it." 

Meanwhile  Miss  White  had  carried  her  salad  dressing  in 


68  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

to  Marie,  and  had  gone  out  again  to  the  veranda  where 
Macleod  was  seated.  He  was  charmed  with  the  dreamy 
stillness  and  silence  of  the  place,  with  the  hanging  foliage 
all  around,  and  the  colors  in  the  steep  gardens,  and  the  still 
waters  below. 

"  I  don't  see  how  it  is,"  said  he,  "  but  you  seem  to  have 
much  more  open  houses  here  than  we  have.  Our  houses  in 
the  North  look  cold,  and  hard,  and  bare.  We  should  laugh 
if  we  saw  a  place  like  this  up  with  us  ;  it  seems  to  me  a  sort 
of  a  toy  place  out  of  a  picture — from  Switzerland  or  some 
such  country.  Here  you  are  in  the  open  air,  with  your  own 
little  world  around  you,  and  nobody  to  see  you  ;  you  might 
live  all  your  life  here,  and  know  nothing  about  the  storm 
crossing  the  Atlantic,  and  the  wars  in  Europe,  if  only  you 
gave  up  the  newspapers." 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  pretty  and  quiet,"  said  she,  and  the  small 
fingers  pulled  to  pieces  one  of  the  rose  leaves  that  Carry  had 
fh^-own  at  her.  "  But  you  know  one  is  never  satisfied  any- 
where. If  I  were  to  tell  you  the  longing  I  have  to  see  the 
very  places  you  describe  as  being  so  desolate But  per- 
haps papa  will  take  me  there  some  day." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  he  ;  "  but  I  would  not  call  them  deso- 
late. They  are  terrible  at  times,  and  they  are  lonely,  and 
they  make  you  think.  But  they  are  beautiful  too,  with  a  sort 
of  splendid  beauty  and  grandeur  that  goes  very  near  making 
you  miserable.  ...  I  cannot  describe  it.  You  will  see  for 
yourself." 

Here  a  bell  rang,  and  at  the  same  moment  Mr.  White 
made  his  appearance. 

"  How  do  you  do.  Sir  Keith  ?  Luncheon  is  ready,  my 
dear — luncheon  is  ready — luncheon  is  ready. 

He  kept  muttering  to  himself  as  he  led  the  way.  They 
entered  a  small  dining-room,  and  here,  if  Macleod  had  ever 
heard  of  actresses  having  little  time  to  give  to  domestic 
affairs,  he  must  have  been  struck  by  the  exceeding  neatness 
and  brightness  of  everything  on  the  table  and  around  it. 
The  snow-white  cover ;  the  brilliant  glass  and  spoons  ;  the 
carefully  arranged,  if  tiny,  bouquets  ;  and  the  precision  with 
which  the  smart  little  maiden-servant,  the  only  attendant, 
waited — all  these  things  showed  a  household  well  managed. 
Nay,  this  iced  claret-cup — was  it  not  of  her  own  composi- 
tion ? — and  a  pleasanter  beverage  he  had  never  drank. 

But  she  seemed  to  pay  little  attenti^Dn  to  these  matters, 
for  she  kept  glancing  at  her  father,  who,  as  he  addressed 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  6g 

Macleod  from  time  to  time,  was  obviously  nervous  and  ha 
rassed  about  something.     At  last  she  said, — 

•'  Papa,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  Has  anything  gone 
wrong  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear  child,"  said  he,  "  don't  speak  of  it.  It  is 
my  memory — I  fear  my  memory  is  going.  But  we  will  not 
trouble  our  guest  about  it.  I  think  you  were  saying,  Sir 
Keith,  that  you  had  seen  the  latest  additions  to  the  National 
Gallery " 

"  But  what  is  it,  papa  ?  "  his  daughter  insisted. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,  I  know  I  have  the  lines  somewhere  ; 

and  Lord says  that  the  very  first  jug  fired  at  the  new 

pottery  he  is  helping  shall  have  these  lines  on  it,  and  be  kept 
for  himself.-  I  know  I  have  both  the  Spanish  original  and 
the  English  translation  somewhere  ;  and  all  the  morning  I 
have  been  hunting  and  hunting — ^for  only  one  line.  I  think 
I  know  the  other  three, — 

*  Old  wine  to  drink. 
Old  wrongs  let  sink. 
*        *        *        * 

Old  friends  in  need.' 

It  is  the  third  line  that  has  escaped  me — dear,  dear  me  !  I 
fear  my  brain  is  going." 

"  But  I  will  hunt  for  it,  papa,"  said  she  ;  "  I  will  get  the 
lines  for  you.     Don't  you  trouble." 

*'  No,  no,  no,  child,"  said  he,  with  somewhat  of  a  pomp- 
ous air.  "  You  have  this  new  character  to  study.  You  must 
not  allow  any  trouble  to  disturb  the  serenity  of  your  mind 
while  you  are  so  engaged.  You  must  give  your  heart  and 
soul  to  it,  Gerty  ;  you  must  forget  yourself  ;  you  must  aban- 
don yourself  to  it,  and  let  it  grow  up  in  your  mind  until  the 
conception  is  so  perfect  that  there  are  no  traces  of  the  man- 
ner of  its  production  left." 

He  certainly  was  addressing  his  daughter,  but  somejiow 
the  formal  phrases  suggested  that  he  was  speaking  for  the 
benefit  of  the  stranger.  The  prim  old  gentleman  continued  ; 
"  That  is  the  only  way.  Art  demands  absolute  self-for- 
getfulness.  You  must  give  yourself  to  it  in  complete  surren- 
der. People  may  not  know  the  difference ;  but  the  true 
artist  seeks  only  to  be  true  to  himself.  You  produce  the  per- 
fect flower  ;  they  are  not  to  know  of  the  anxious  care — of  the 
agony  of  tears,  perhaps  you  have  spent  on  it.    But  then  your 


70  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

whole  mind  must  be  given  to  it ;  there  must  be  no  distract- 
ing cares  ;  I  will  look  for  the  missing  lines  myself." 

"  I  am  quite  sure,  papa,"  said  Miss  Carry,  spitefully,  "that 
she  was  far  more  anxious  about  these  cutlets  than  about  her 
new  part  this  morning.  She  was  half  a  dozen  times  to  the 
kitchen.     I  didn't  see  her  reading  the  book  much." 

"  The  res  angustce  domi,''  said  the  father,  sententiously, 
"  sometimes  interfere,  where  people  are  not  too  well  oft. 
But  that  is  necessary.  What  is  not  necessary  is  that  Gerty 
should  take  my  troubles  over  to  herself,  and  disturb  her  for- 
mation of  this  new  character,  which  ought  to  be  growing  up 
in  her  mind  almost  insensibly,  until  she  herself  will  scarcely 
be  aware  how  real  it  is.  When  she  steps  on  to  the  stage  she 
ought  to  be  no  more  Gertrude  White  than  you  or  I.  The  art- 
ist loses  himself.  He  transfers  his  soul  to  his  creation. 
His  heart  beats  in  another  breast ;  he  sees  with  other  eyes. 
You  will  excuse  me.  Sir  Keith,  but  I  keep  insisting  on  this 
point  to  my  daughter.  If  she  ever  becomes  a  great  artist, 
that  will  be  the  secret  of  her  success.  And  she  ought  never 
to  cease  from  cultivating  the  habit.  She  ought  to  be  ready 
at  any  moment  to  project  herself,  as  it  were,  into  any  char- 
acter. She  ought  to  practise  so  as  to  make  of  her  own  emo- 
tions an  instrument  that  she  can  use  at  will.  It  is  a  great 
demand  that  art  makes  on  the  life  of  an  artist.  In  fact,  he 
ceases  to  live  for  himself.  He  becomes  merely  a  medium. 
•His  most  secret  experiences  are  the  property  of  the  world  at 
large,  once  they  have  been  transfused  and  moulded  by  his 
personal  skill." 

And  so  he  continued  talking,  apparently  for  the  instruc- 
tion of  his  daughter,  but  also  giving  his  guest  clearly  to  un- 
derstand that  Miss  Gertrude  White  was  not  as  other  women 
but  rather  as  one  set  apart  for  the  high  and  inexorable  sacri- 
fice demanded  by  art.  At  the  end  of  his  lecture  he  ab)  uptly 
asked  Macleod  if  he  had  followed  him.  Yes,  he  had  fol- 
lowed him,  but  in  rather  a  bewildered  way.  Or  had  he  some 
contused  sense  of  self-reproach,  in  that  he  had  distracted 
the  contemplation  of  this  pale  and  beautiful  artist,  and  sent 
her  downstairs  to  look  after   cutlets  ? 

"  It  seems  a  little  hard,  sir,"  said  Macleod  to  the  old  man, 
"  that  an  artist  is  not  to  have  any  life  of  his  or  her  own  at  all : 
that  he  or  she  should  become  merely  a — a — a  sort  of  ten-min- 
utes' emotionalist." 

It  was  not  a  bad  phrase  for  a  rude. Highlander  to  have  in- 
vented on  the  spur  of  the  moment.     But  the  fact  was  tha* 


MA  CLEOD  OF  DARE.  y  , 

some  little  personal  feeling  stung  him  into  the  speech.  He 
was  prepared  to  resent  this  tyrany  of  art.  And  if  he  now 
were  to  see  some  beautiful  pale  slave  'bound  in  these  iron 
chains,  and  being  exhibited  for  the  amusement  of  an  idle 
world,  what  would  the  fierce  blood  of  the  Macleods  say  to 
that  debasement.?  He  began  to  dislike  this  old  man,  with 
his  cruel  theories  and  his  oracular  speech.  But  he  forbore 
to  have  further  or  any  argument  with  him  ;  for  he  remem- 
bered what  the  Highlanders  call  "  the  advice  of  the  bell  of 
Scoon  " — "  The  thing  that  concerfis  you  not  meddle  not  withP 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE   PRINCESS    RIGHINN. 


The  people  who  lived  in  this  land  oi  summer,  and  sun- 
shine, and  flowers — had  they  no  cares  at  all  t  He  went  out 
into  the  garden  with  these  two  girls  ;  and  they  were  like  two 
young  fawns  in  their  careless  play.  Miss  Cdrry,indeed,seemed 
bent  on  tantalizing  him  by  the  manner  m  which  she  petted 
and  teased  and  caressed  her  sister-^scolding  her,  quarrelling 
with  her,  and  kissing  her  all  at  once.  The  grave,  gentle, 
forbearing  manner  in  which  the  elder  sister  bore  all  this  was 
beautiful  to  see.  And  then  her  sudden  concern  and  pity 
when  the  wild  Miss  Carry  had  succeeded  in  scratching  her 
finger  with  the  thorn  of  a  rose-bush  !  It  was  the  tiniest  of 
scratches :  and  all  the  blood  that  appeared  was  about  the 
size  of  a  pin-head.  But  Miss  White  must  needs  tear  up  her 
dainty  little  pocket-handerchief,  and  bind  that  grievous 
wound,  and  condole  with  the  poor  victim  as  though  she  were 
suffering  untold  agonies.  It  was  a  pretty  sort  of  idleness. 
It  seemed  to  harmonize  with  this  still,  beautiful  summer  day, 
and  the  soft  green  foliage  around,  and  the  still  air  that  was 
sweet  with  the  scent  of  the  flowers  of  the  lime-trees.  They 
say  that  the  Gaelic  word  for  the  lower  regions  ifrin,  is  derived 
from  ibhuim,  the  island  of  incessant  rain.  To  a  Highlander, 
therefore  must  not  this  land  of  perpetual  summer  and  sun- 
shine have  seemed  to  be  heaven  itself  ? 

And  even  the  malicious  Carry  relented  for  a  moment. 

"  You  said  you  were  going  to  the  Zoological  Gardens," 
she  said. 


^2  MACLEOD  OF  DArjk. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  am.  I  have  seen  everything  I 
want  to  see  in  London  but  that." 

"  Because  Gerty  and  I  might  walk  across  the  Park  with 
you,  and  show  you  the  way." 

"  I  very  much  wish  you  would,"  said  he,  "  if  you  have 
nothing  better  to  do." 

"  I  will  see  if  papa  does  not  want  me,"  said  Miss  White, 
calmly.  She  might  just  as  well  be  walking  in  Regent's  Park 
as  in  this  small  garden. 

Presently  the  three  of  them  set  out. 

"  I  am  glad  of  any  excuse,"  she  said,  with  a  smile,  "  for 
throwing  aside  that  new  part.  It  seems  to  me  insufferably 
stupid.  It  is  very  hard  that  you  should  be  expected  to  make 
a  character  look  natural  when  the  words  you  have  to  speak 
are  such  as  no  human  being  would  use  in  any  circumstance 
whatever." 

Oddly  enough,  he  never  heard  her  make  even  the  slight- 
est reference  to  her  profession  without  experiencing  a  sharp 
twinge  of  annoyance.  He  did  not  stay  to  ask  himself  why 
this  should  be  so.  Ordinarily  he  simply  made  haste  to  change 
the  subject. 

"  Then  why  should  you  take  the  part  at  all  ?  "  said  he, 
bluntly. 

"  Once  you  have  given  yourself  up  to  a  particular  calling- 
you  must  accept  its  little  annoyances,"  she  said,  frankly.  "  I 
cannot  have  everything  my  own  way.  I  have  been  very  for- 
tunate in  other  respects.  I  never  had  to  go  through  the 
drudgery  of  the  provinces,  though  they  say  that  is  the  best 
school  possible  for  an  actress.  And  I  am  sure  the  money 
and  the  care  papa  has  spent  on  my  training — you  see,  he  had 
no  son  to  send  to  college.  I  think  he  is  far  more  anxious 
about  my  Slicceeding  than  I  am  myself." 

"  But  you  have  succeeded,"  said  Macleod.  It  was,  in- 
deed, the  least  he  could  say,  with  all  his  dislike  of  the  sub- 
ject. 

"Oh,  I  do  not  call  that  success,"  said  she,  simply 
"  That  is  merely  pleasing  people  by  showing  them  little 
scenes  from  their  own  drawing-rooms  transferred  to  the  stage. 
They  like  it  because  it  is  pretty  and  familiar.  And  people 
pretend  to  be  very  cynical  at  present — they  like  things  with 
*  no  nonsense  about  them  ; '  and  I  suppose  this  sort  of  com- 
edy is  the  natural  reaction  from  the  rant  of  the  melodrama. 
Still,  if  you  happen  to  be  ambitious — or  perhaps  it  is  mere 
vanity  .''  — if  you  would  like  to  try  what  is  in  vou ' 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  73 

"  Gerty  wants  to  be  a  Mrs.  Siddons  :  that's  it,"  said  Miss 
Carry,  promptly. 

Talking  to  an  actress  about  her  profession,  and  not  having 
a  word  of  compliment  to  say.?  Instead,  he  praised  the  noble 
elms  and  chestnuts  of  the  Park,  the  broad  white  lake,  the 
flowers,  the  avenues.  He  was  greatly  interested  by  the  whiz- 
zing by  overhead  of  a  brace  of  duck. 

"I  suppose  you  are  very  fond  of  animals  ? "  Miss  White 
said. 

"  I  am  indeed,"  said  he,  suddenly  brightening  up.  "  And 
up  at  our  place  I  give  them  all  a  chance.  I  don't  allow  a 
single  weasel  or  hawk  to  be  killed,  though  I  have  a  great  deal 
of  trouble  about  it.  But  what  is  the  result  ?  I  don't  know 
whether  there  is  such  a  thing  as  the  balance  of  nature,  or 
whether  it  is  merely  that  the  hawks  and  weasels  and  other 
vermin  kill  off  the  sickly  birds :  but  I  do  know  that  we  have 
less  disease  among  our  birds  than  I  hear  of  anywhere  else. 
I  have  sometimes  shot  a  weasel,  it  is  true,  when  I  have  run 
across  him  as  he  was  hunting  a  rabbit — you  cannot  help 
doing  that  if  you  hear  the  rabbit  squealing  with  fright  long 
before  the  weasel  is  at  him — but  it  is  against  my  rule.  I  give 
them  all  a  fair  field  and  no  favor.  But  there  are  two  animals 
I  put  out  of  the  list ;  I  thought  there  was  only  one  till  this 
week — now  there  are  two  ;  and  one  of  them  I  hate,  the  other 
I  fear." 

"  Fear  ? "  she  said :  the  slight  flash  of  surprise  in  her  eyes 
was  eloquent  enough.     But  he  did  not  notice  it. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  rather  gloomily.  "  I  suppose  it  is  super- 
stition, or  you  may  have  it  in  your  blood ;  but  the  horror  I 
have  of  the  eyes  of  a  snake — I  cannot  tell  you  of  it.  Perhaps 
I  was  frightened  when  I  was  a  child — I  cannot  remember ; 
or  perhaps  it  was  the  stories  of  the  old  women.  The  serpent 
is  very  mysterious  to  the  people  in  the  Highlands :  they  have 
stories  of  watersnakes  in  the  lochs  :  and  if  you  get  a  nest  of 
seven  adders  with  one  white  one,  you  boil  the  white  one,  and 
the  man  who  drinks  the  broth  knows  all  things  in  heaven  and 
earth.  In  the  Lewis  they  call  the  serpent  righimi,  that  is, 
^  a  princess  ;^  and  they  say  that  the  serpent  is  a  princess  be- 
witched.    But  that  is  from  fear — it  is  a  compliment " 

"  But  surely  there  are  no  serpents  to  be  afraid  of  in  the 
Highlands  .?  "  said  Miss  White.  She  was  looking  rather  cu- 
riously at  him. 

"  No,"  said  he,  in  the  same  gloomy  way.  "  The  adders 
run  away  from  you  if  you  are  walking  through  the  heather. 


74 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


If  you  tread  on  one,  and  he  bites  your  boot,  what  then  ?  He 
cannot  hurt  you.  But  suppose  you  are  out  after  the  deer, 
and  you  are  crawling  along  the  heather  with  your  face  to  the 
ground,  and  all  at  once  you  see  the  two  small  eyes  of  an 
adder  looking  at  you  and  close  to  you " 

He  shuddered  slightly — perhaps  it  was  only  an  express- 
ion of  disgust. 

"  I  have  heard,"  he  continued,  "  that  in  parts  of  Islay  they 
used  to  be  so  bad  that  the  farmers  would  set  fire  to  the 
heather  in  a  circle,  and  as  the  heather  burned  in  and  in  you 
could  see  the  snakes  and  adders  twisting  and  curling  in  a 
great  ball.  We  have  not  many  with  us.  But  one  day  John 
Begg,  that  is  the  schoolmaster,  went  behind  a  rock  to  get  a 
light  for  his  pipe ;  and  he  put  his  head  close  to  the  rock  to 
be  out  of  the  wind  ;  and  then  he  thought  he  stirred  something 
with  his  cap  ;  and  the  next  momertt  the  adder  fell  on  to  his 
shoulder,  and  bit  him  in  the  neck.  He  was  half  mad  with 
the  fright ;  but  I  think  the  adder  must  have  bitten  the  cap 
first  and  expended  its  poison ;  for  the  schoolmaster  was  only 
ill  for  about  two  days,  and  then  there  was  no  more  of  it. 
But  just  think  of  it — an  adder  getting  to  your  neck " 

"  I  would  rather  not  think  of  it,"  she  said,  quickly. 
"  What  is  the  other  animal — that  you  hate  ?  " 

"  Oh !  "  he  said,  lightly,  "  that  is  a  very  different  affair — 
that  is  a  parrot  that  speaks.  I  was  never  shut  up  in  the 
house  with  one  till  this  week.  My  landlady's  son  brought 
her  home  one  from  the  West  Indies  ;  and  she  put  the  cage  in 
a  window  recess  on  my  landing.  At  first  it  was  a  little  amus- 
ing ;  but  the  constant  yelp — it  was  too  much  for  me.  'Priity 
poal f pritty poal !^  I  did  not  mind  so  much;  but  when  the 
ugly  brute,  with  its  beady  eyes  and  its  black  snout,  used  to 
yelp,  '  Come  andkiz  me  I  come  andkiz  me  /^  I  grew  to  hate  it. 
And  in  the  morning,  too,  how  was  one  to  sleep  ?  I  used  to 
open  my  door  and  fling  a  boot  at  it ;  but  that  only  served  for 
a  time.    It  began  again." 

"  But  you  speak  of  it  as  having  been  there.  What  became 
of  it?" 

He  glanced  at  her  rather  nervously — like  a  schoolboy — • 
and  laughed. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  "  he  said,  rather  shamefacedly.  "  The 
murder  will  be  out  sooner  or  later.  It  was  this  morning.  I 
could  stand  it  no  longer.  I  had  thrown  both  my  boots  at  it ; 
it  was  no  use.  I  got  up  a  third  time,  and  went  out.  The 
w'ndow,  that  looks  into  a  back  yard,  was  open.     Then   I 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  75 

opened  the  parrot's  cage.  But  the  fool  of  an  animal  did  not 
know  what  I  meant — or  it  was  afraid — and  so  I  caught  him 
by  the  back  of  the  neck  and  flung  him  out.  I  don't  know 
anything  more  about  him." 

^  "  Could  he  fly  ?  "   said  the  big-eyed  Carry,  who  had  been 
quite  interested  in  this  tragic  tale 

*'  I  don't  know,"  Macleod  said,  modestly.  "  There  was 
no  use  asking  him.  All  he  could  say  was,  '•  Come  and  kiz 
me; '  and  I  got  tired  of  that." 

"  Then  you  have  murdered  him  !  "  said  the  elder  sister  in 
an  awestricken  voice  ;  and  she  pretended  to  withdraw  a  bit 
from  him.  "  I  don't  believe  in  the  Macleods  having  become 
civilized,  peaceable  people.  I  believe  they  would  have  no 
hesitation  in  murdering  any  one  that  was  in  their  way." 

"  Oh,  Miss  White,"  said  he,  in  protest,  "  you  must  forget 
what  I  told  you  about  the  Macleods  ;  and  you  must  really 
believe  they  were  no  worse  than  the  others  of  the  same  time. 
Now  I  was  thinking  of  another  story  the  other  day,  which  I 
must  tell  you " 

"  Oh,  pray,  don't,"  she  said,  *'  if  it  is  one  of  those  terrible 
legends " 

"  But  I  must  tell  you,"  said  he,  "  because  it  is  about  the 
Macdonalds  ;  and  I  want  to  show  you  that  we  had  not  all  the 
badness  of  those  times.  It  was  Donald  Gorm  Mor  ;  and  his 
nephew  Hugh  Macdonald,  who  was  the  heir  to  the  chief- 
tainship, he  got  a  number  of  men  to  join  him  in  a  conspiracy 
to  have  his  uncle  murdered.  The  chief  found  it  out,  and  for- 
gave him.  That  was  notlike  a  Macleod,"  he  admitted,  "  fori 
never  heard  of  a  Macleod  of  those  days  forgiving  anybody. 
But  again  Hugh  Macdonald  engaged  in  a  conspiracy  ;  and 
then  Donald  Gorm  Mor  thought  he  would  put  an  end  to  the 
nansense.  What  did  he  do?  He  put  his  nephew  into  a  deep 
and  foul  dungeon — so  the  story  says — and  left  him  without 
food  or  water  for  a  whole  day.  Then  there  was  salt  beef 
lowered  into  the  dungeon  ;  and  Macdonald  he  devoured  the 
salt  beef ;  for  he  was  starving  with  hunger.  Then  they  left 
him  alone.  But  you  can  imagine  the  thirst  of  a  man  who  has 
been  eating  salt  beef,  and  who  has  had  no  water  for  a  day  or 
two.  He  was  mad  with  thirst.  Then  they  lowered  a  cup  into 
the  dungeon — you  may  imagine  the  eagerness  with  which  the 
poor  fellow  saw  it  coming  down  to  him — and  how  he  caught 
it  with  both  his  hands.  But  it  was  empty  !  And  so,  having 
made  a  fool  of  him  in  that  way,  they  left  him  to  die  of  thirst 
That  was  the  Macdonalds,  Miss  White,  not*the  Macleods." 


7 6  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"  Then  I  am  glad  of  Culloden,"  said  she,  with  decision, 
"  for  destroying  such  a  race  of  fiends." 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  say  that,"  he  protested,  laughing. 
"  We  should  have  become  quiet  and  respectable  folks  without 
Culloden.  Even  without  Culloden  we  should  have  had  penny 
newspapers  all  the  same ;  and  tourist  boats  from  Oban  to 
lona.  Indeed,  you  won't  find  quieter  folks  anywhere  than 
the  Macdonalds  and  Macleods  are  now." 

"  I  don't  know  how  far  you  are  to  be  trusted,"  said  she, 
pretending  to  look  at  him  with  some  doubts. 

Now  they  reached  the  gate  of  the  gardens. 

"  Do  let  us  go  in,  Gerty,"  said  Miss  Carry.  "  You  know 
you  always  get  hints  for  your  dresses  from  the  birds — you 
would  never  have  thought  of  that  flamingo  pink  and  white  if 
you  had  not  been  walking  through  here " 

"  I  will  go  in  for  a  while  if  you  like,  Carry,"  said  she ; 
and  certainly  Macleod  was  nothing  loath. 

There  were  but  few  people  in  the  Gardens  on  this  after- 
noon, for  all  the  world  was  up  at  the  Eton  and  Harrow 
cricket-match  at  Lord's,  and  there  was  little  visible  of  'Arry 
and  his  pipe.  Macleod  began  to  show  more  than  a  school 
boy's  delight  over  the  wonders  of  this  strange  place.  That 
he  was  exceedingly  fond  of  animals — always  barring  the  two 
he  had  mentioned — was  soon  abundantly  shown.  He  talked 
to  them  as  though  the  mute  inquiring  eyes  could  understand 
him  thoroughly.  When  he  came  to  animals  with  which  he 
was  familiar  in  the  North,  he  seemed  to  be  renewing  acquain- 
tance with  old  friends — like  himself,  they  were  strangers  ii> 
a  strange  land. 

"  Ah,"  said  he  to  the  splendid  red  deer,  which  was  walk- 
ing about  the  paddock  with  his  velvety  horns  held  proudly  in 
the  air,  "  what  part  of  the  Highlands  have  you  come  from  ? 
And  wouldn't  you  like  now  a  canter  down  the  dry  bed  of  a 
stream  on  the  side  of  Een-an-Sloich  ?  " 

The  hind,  with  slow  and  gentle  step,  and  with  her  nut- 
brown  hide  shining  in  the  sun,  came  up  to  the  bars,  and  re- 
garded him  with  those  large,  clear,  gray-green  eyes — so  dif- 
ferent from  the  soft  dark  eyes  of  the  roe — that  had  long  eye- 
lashes on  the  upper  lid.     He  rubbed  her  nose. 

"  And  wouldn't  you  rather  be  up  on  the  heather,  munch- 
ing the  young  grass  and  drinking  out  of  the  burn  ? " 

They  went  along  to  the  great  cage  of  the  sea-eagles. 
The  birds  seemed  to  pay  no  heed  to  what  was  passing  im- 
mediately around  them.     Ever  and  anon  they  jerked  Iheir 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


77 


heads  into  an  attitude  of  attention,  and  the  golden  brown  eye 
with  its  contracted  pupil  and  stern  upper  lid,  seemed  to  be 
throwing  a  keen  glance  over  the  immeasurable  leagues  of 
sea. 

"  Poor  old  chap  !  "  he  said  to  one  perched  high  on  an  old 
stump,  "  wouldn't  you  like  to  have  one  sniff  of  a  sea-breeze, 
and  a  look  round  for  a  sea-pyot  or  two  ?  What  do  they  give 
you  here — dead  fish,  I  suppose  ?  " 

The  eagle  raised  its  great  wings  and  slowly  flapped  them 
once  or  twice,  while  it  uttered  a  succession  of  shrill  yawps. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  said,  "  you  could  make  yourself  heard  above 
the  sound  of  the  waves.  And  I  think  if  any  of  the  boys  were 
after  your  eggs  or  your  young  ones,  you  could  make  short 
work  of  them  with  those  big  wings.  Or  would  you  like  to 
have  a  battle-royal  with  a  seal,  and  try  whether  you  could 
pilot  the  seal  in  to  the  shore,  or  whether  the  seal  would  drag 
you  and  your  fixed  claws  down  to  the  bottom  and  drown 
you  ? " 

There  was  a  solitary  kittiwake  in  a  cage  devoted  to  sea- 
birds,  nearly  all  of  which  were  foreigners. 

"  You  poor  little  kittiwake,"  said  he,  "  this  is  a  sad  place 
for  you  to  be  in.  I  think  you  would  rather  be  out  at  Ru- 
Treshanish,  even  if  it  was  blowing  hard,  and  there  was  rain 
about.  There  was  a  dead  whale  came  ashore  there  about  a 
month  ago  ;  that  would  have  been  something  like  a  feast  for 
you." 

"  Why,"  said  he,  to  his  human  companion,  "  if  I  had  only 
known  before  !  Whenever  there  was  an  hour  or  two  with 
nothing  to  do,  here  was  plenty  of  occupation.  But  I  must 
not  keep  you  too  long,  Miss  White.  I  could  remain  here 
days  and  weeks." 

"  You  will  not  go  without  looking  in  at  the  serpents," 
said  she,  with  a  slight  smile. 

He  hesitated  for  a  second. 

"  No,"  said  he ;  I  think  I  will  not  go  in  to  see  them." 

"  But  you  must,"  said  she,  cruelly.  "  You  will  see  they 
are  not  such  terrible  creatures  when  they  are  shut  up  in  glass 
boxes." 

He  suffered  himself  to  be  led  along  to  the  reptile  house ; 
but  he  was  silent.  He  entered  the  last  of  the  three.  He 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  looked  around  him  in 
rather  a  strange  way. 

"  Now,  come  and  look  at  this  splendid  fellow,"  said  Miss 
White,  who,  with  her  sister,  was  leaning  over  the  rail.  "  Look 


78  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

at  his  splendid  bars  of  color !  do  you  see  the  beautiful  blue 
sheen  on  its  scales  ?  " 

It  was  a  huge  anaconda,  its  body  as  thick  as  a  man's  leg, 
lying  coiled  up  in  a  circle  ;  its  flat,  ugly  head  reposing  in  the 
middle.  He  came  a  bit  nearer.  "  Hideous  !  "  was  all  he 
said.  And  then  his  eyes  was  fixed  on  the  eyes  of  the  animal 
— the  lidless  eyes,  with  their  perpetual  glassy  stare.  He  had 
thought  at  first  they  were  closed  ;  but  now  he  saw  that  that 
opaque  yellow  substance  was  covered  by  a  glassy  coating, 
while  in  the  centre  there  was  a  small  slit  as  if  cut  by  a  pen- 
knife. The  great  coils  slowly  expanded  and  fell  again  as  the 
animal  breathed ;  otherwise  the  fixed  stare  of  those  yellow 
eyes  might  have  been  taken  for  the  stare  of  death. 

"  I  don't  think  the  anaconda  is  poisonous  at  all,"  said 
she,  lightly. 

"  But  if  you  were  to  meet  that  beast  in  a  jungle,"  said  he, 
"  what  difference  would  that  make  !  " 

He  spoke  reproachfully,  as  if  she  were  luring  him  into 
some  secret  place  to  have  him  slain  with  poisonous  fangs. 
He  passed  on  from  that  case  to  the  others  unwillingly.  The 
room  was  still.  Most  of  the  snakes  would  have  seemed  dead 
but  for  the  malign  stare  of  the  beaded  eyes.  He  seemed 
anxious  to  get  out ;  the  atmosphere  of  the  place  was  hot  and 
oppressive. 

But  just  at  the  door  there  was  a  case  some  quick  motion 
in  which  caught  his  eye,  and  despite  himself  he  stopped  to 
look.  The  inside  of  this  glass  box  was  alive  with  snakes — 
raising  their  heads  in  the  air,  slimily  crawling  over  each 
other,  the  small  black  forked  tongues  shooting  in  and  out, 
the  black  points  of  eyes  glassily  staring.  And  the  object 
that  had  moved  quickly  was  a  wretched  little  yellow  frog, 
that  was  not  motionless  in  a  dish  of  water,  its  eyes  apparently 
starting  out  of  its  head  with  horror.  A  snake  made  its  ap- 
pearance over  the  edge  of  the  dish.  The  shooting  black 
tongue  approached  the  head  of  the  frog  ;  and  then  the  long, 
sinuous  body  glided  along  the  edge  of  the  dish  again,  the 
frog  meanwhile  being  too  paralyzed  with  fear  to  move.  A 
second  afterward  the  frog,  apparently  recovering,  sprung  clean 
out  of  the  basin  ;  but  it  was  only  to  alight  on  the  backs  of 
two  or  three  of  the  reptiles  lying  coiled  up  together.  It  made 
another  spring,  and  got  into  a  corner  among  some  grass.  But 
along  that  side  of  the  case  another  of  those  small,  flat,  yellow 
marked  heads  was  slowly  creeping  along,  propelled  by  the 
squirming  body  ;  and  again  the  frog  made  a  sudden  spring, 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


79 


this  time  leaping  once  more  into  the  shallow  water,  where,  it 
stood  and  panted,  with  its  eyes  dilated.  And  now  a  snake 
that  had  crawled  up  the  side  of  the  case  put  out  its  long  neck 
as  if  to  ^ee  whither  it  should  proceed.  There  was  nothing  to 
lay  hold  of.  The  head  swayed  and  twistea,  the  forked  tongue 
shooting  out ;  and  at  last  the  snake  feU  away  from  its  hold, 
and  splashed  right  into  the  basin  of  water  on  the  top  of  the 
frog.  There  was  a  wild  shooting  this  way  and  that — but 
Macleod  did  not  see  the  end  of  it.  He  had  uttered  some 
slight  exclamation,  and  got  into  the  ope  n  air,  as  one  being 
suffocated :  and  there  were  drops  of  perspiration  on  his  fore- 
head, and  a  trembling  of  horror  and  disgust  had  seized  him. 
His  two  companions  followed  him  out. 

"  I  felt  rather  faint,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice — and  he  did 
not  turn  to  look  at  them  as  he  spoke — "  the  air  is  close  in 
that  room." 

They  moved  away.  He  looked  around — at  the  beautiful 
green  of  the  trees,  and  the  blue  sky,  and  th  e  sunlight  on  the 
path — God's  world  was  getting  to  be  more  wholesome  again, 
and  the  choking  sensation  of  disgust  was  going  from  his 
throat.  He  seemed,  however,  rather  anxious  to  get  away 
from  this  place.  There  was  a  gate  close  by ;  he  proposed 
they  should  go  out  by  that.  As  he  walked  back  with  them 
to  South  Bank,  they  chatted  about  many  of  the  animals — the 
two  girls  in  especial  being  much  interested  in  certain  pheas- 
ants, whose  colors  of  plumage  they  thought  would  look  very 
pretty  in  a  dress — ^but  he  never  referred,  either  then  or  at  any 
future  time,  to  his  visit  to  the  reptile  house.  Nor  did  it  oc- 
cur to  Miss  White,  in  this  idle  conversation,  to  ask  him 
whether  his  Highland  blood  had  inherited  any  other  qualities 
besides  that  instinctive  and  deadly  horror  of  serpents. 


CHAPTER  X. 

LAST  NIGHTS. 


"  Good-night,  Macleod  ! "  —  "  Good-night ! "  —  «  Good- 
night !  "  The  various  voices  came  from  the  top  of  a  drag. 
They  were  addressed  to  one  of  two  young  men  who  stood  on 
the  steps  of  the  Star  and  Garter — ^black  fingers  in  the  blaze 


8o  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

of  light.  And  now  the  people  on  the  drag  had  finally  en- 
sconced themselves,  and  the  ladies  had  drawn  their  ample 
cloaks  more  completely  around  their  gay  costumes,  and  the 
two  grooms  were  ready  to  set  free  the  heads  of  the  leaders. 
"  Good-night,  Macleod  !  "  Lord  Beauregard  called  again  ;  and 
then,  with  a  little  preliminary  prancing  of  the  leaders,  away 
swung  the  big  vehicle  through  the  clear  darkness  of  the 
sweet-scented  summer  night. 

"  It  was  awfully  good-natured  of  Beauregard  to  bring  six 
of  your  people  down  and  take  them  back  again,"  observed 
Lieutenant  Ogilvie  to  his  companion.  "  He  wouldn't  do  it 
for  most  folks.  He  wouldn't  do  it  for  me.  But  then  you  have 
the  grand  air,  Macleod.  You  seem  to  be  conferring  a  favor 
when  you  get  one." 

"  The  people  have  been  very  kind  to  me,"  said  Macleod, 
simply.  "  I  do  not  know  why.  I  wish  I  could  take  them  all 
up  to  Castle  Dare  and  entertain  them  as  a  prince  could  enter- 
tain people r" 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  that,  Macleod,"  said  his 
companion.  "  Shall  we  go  upstairs  again  t  I  have  left  my 
hat  and  coat  there." 

They  went  upstairs,  and  entered  a  long  chamber  which 
had  been  formed  by  the  throwing  of  two  rooms  into  one. 
The  one  apartment  had  been  used  as  a  sort  of  withdrawing 
room  ;  in  the  other  stood  the  long  banquet-table,  still  covered 
with  bright-colored  flowers,  and  dishes  of  fruit,  and  decanters 
and  glasses.  Ogilvie  sat  down,  lit  a  cigar,  and  poured  him- 
self out  some  claret. 

"  Macleod,"  said  he,  "  I  am  going  to  talk  to  you  like  a 
father.  I  hear  you  have  been  going  on  in  a  mad  way.  Surely 
you  know  that  a  batchelor  coming  up  to  London  for  a  season, 
and  being  asked  about  by  people  who  are  precious  glad  to 
get  unmarried  men  to  their  houses,  is  not  expected  to  give 
these  swell  dinner  parties  ?  And  then,  it  seems,  you  have 
been  bringing  down  all  your  people  in  drags.  What  do  those 
flowers  cost  you  ?     I  dare  say  this  is  Lafitte,  now  ?  " 

"  And  if  it  is,  why  not  drink  it  and  say  no  more  about  it } 
I  think  they  enjoyed  themselves  pretty  well  this  evening — 
don't  you,  Oglivie  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  but  then,  my  dear  fellow,  the  cost !  You  will 
say  it  is  none  of  my  business  ;  but  what  would  your  decent, 
respectable  mother  say  to  all  this  extravagance  ?  " 

"Ah  ?  "  said  Macleod,  "  that  is  just  the  thing  ;  I  should 
have  more  pleasure    in  my  little  dinner  parties  if  only  the 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  8 1 

mother  and  Janet  were  here  to  see.  I  think  the  table  would 
look  a  good  deal  better  if  my  mother  was  at  the  head  of  it. 
And  the  cost  ? — oh,  I  am  only  following  out  her  instructions, 
She  would  not  have  people  think  that  I  was  insensible  to  the 
kindness  that  has  been  shown  me  ;  and  then  we  cannot  ask 
all  those  good  friends  up  to  Castle  Dare ;  it  is  an  out-of-the- 
way  place,  and  there  are  no  flowers  on  the  dining-table 
there." 

He  laughed  as  he  looked  at  the  beautiful  things  before 
him  ;  they  would  look  strange  in  the  gaunt  hall  of  Castle 
Dare. 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  I  will  tell  you  a  secret,  Oglivie.  You 
know  my  cousin  Janet — she  is  the  kindest-hearted  of  all  the 
women  I  know — and  when  I  was  coming  away  she  gave  me 
;^2ooo,  just  in  case  I  should  need  it." 

"  ;^2ooo  !  "  exclaimed  Ogvilie.  "  Did  she  think  you  were 
going  to  buy  Westminster  Abbey  during  the  course  of  your 
holidays  ?  "  And  then  he  looked  at  the  table  before  him,  and 
a  new  idea  seemed  to  strike  him.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say, 
Macleod,  that  it  is  your  cousin's  money " 

Macleod's  face  flushed  angrily.  Had  any  other  man  made 
the  suggestion,  he  would  have  received  a  tolerably  sharp  an- 
swer.    But  he  only  said  to  his  old  friend  Oglivie, — 

"  No,  no,  Oglivie ;  we  are  not  very  rich  folks;  but  we  have 
not  come  to  that  yet.  *I'd  sell  my  kilts,  I'd  sell  my  shoon,' 
as  the  song  says,  before  I  touched  a  farthing  of  Janet's 
money.  But  I  had  to  take  it  from  her  so  as  not  to  offend 
her.  It  is  wonderful,  the  anxiety  and  affection  of  women 
who  live  away  out  of  the  world  like  that.  There  was  my 
mother,  quite  sure  that  something  awful  was  going  to  happen 
to  me,  merely  because  I  was  going  away  for  two  or  three 
months,  And  Janet — I  suppose  she  knew  that  our  family 
never  was  very  good  at  saving  money — she  would  have  me 
take  this  little  fortune  of  hers,  just  as  if  the  old  days  were 
come  back,  and  the  son  of  the  house  was  supposed  to  go  to 
Paris  to  gamble  away  ever)'  penny." 

"  By  the  way,  Macleod,"  said  Oglivie,  "you  have  never 
gone  to  Paris,  as  you  intended." 

"  No,"  said  he,  trying  to  balance  three  nectarines  one  on 
the  top  of  the  other,  "  I  have  not  gone  to  Paris.  I  have 
made  enough  friends  in  London.  I  have  had  plenty  to  oc- 
cupy the  time.  And  now^  Oglivie,"  he  added,  brightly,  "  I 
am  going  in  for  my  last  frolic,  before  everybody  has  left 
JiOndon,  and   you  must  come  to    it,  even  if  you  have  to 


82  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

go  down  by  your  cold-meat  train  again.  You  know  Miss 
Rawlinson;  you  have  seen  her  at  Mrs.  Ross's,  no  doubt. 
Very  well ;  I  met  her  first  when  we  went  down  to  the  Thames 
yacht  race,  and  afterwards  we  became  great  friends  ;  and  the 
dear  little  old  lady  already  looks  on  me  as  if  I  were  her  son. 
And  do  you  know  what  her  proposal  is  ?  That  she  is  to  give 
me  up  her  house  and  garden  for  a  garden  party,  and  I  am  to 
ask  my  friends  ;  and  it  is  to  be  a  dance  as  well,  for  we  shall 
ask  the  people  to  have  supper  at  eight  o'clock  or  so  ;  and 
then  we  shall  have  a  marquee — and  the  garden  all  lighted 
up — do  you  see  "i  It  is  one  of  the  largest  gardens  on  Camp- 
den  Hill ;  and  the  colored  lamps  hung  on  the  trees  will  make 
it  look  very  fine ;  and  we  shall  have  a  band  to  play  music 
for  the  dancers " 

"  It  will  cost  you  ;^2oo  or  ;^3oo  at  least,"  said  Oglivie, 
sharply. 

"  What  then  ?  You  give  your  friends  a  pleasant  evening, 
and  you  show  them  that  you  are  not  ungrateful,"  said  Mac- 
leod. 

Oglivie  began  to  ponder  over  this  matter.  The  stories 
he  had  heard  of  Macleod's  extravagant  entertainments  were 
true,  then.     Suddenly  he  looked  up  and  said, — 

"  Is  Miss  White  to  be  one  of  your  guests  1 " 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  he.  "  The  theatre  will  be  closed  at 
the  end  of  this  week." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  been  a  good  many  times  to  the 
theatre." 

"To  the  Piccadilly  Theatre  .?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  have  been  only  once  to  the  Piccadilly  Theatre — when 
you  and  I  went  together."  said  Macleod,  coldly ;  and  they 
spoke  no  more  of  that  matter. 

By  and  by  they  thought  they  might  as  well  smoke  outside, 
and  so  they  went  down  and  out  upon  the  high  and  walled 
terrace  overlooking  the  broad  valley  of  the  Thames.  And 
now  the  moon  had  arisen  in  the  south,  and  the  winding  river 
showed  a  pale  gray  among  the  black  woods,  and  there  was 
a  silvery  light  on  the  stone  parapet  on  which  they  leaned 
their  arms.  The  night  was  mild  and  soft  and  clear,  there 
was  an  intense  silence  around,  but  they  heard  the  faint  sound 
of  oars  far  away — some  boating  party  getting  home  through 
the  dark  shadows  of  the  river-side  trees. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  life  you  have  here  in  the  south,"  Mac* 
leod  said,  after  a  time,  "  though  I  can  imagine  that  the  wo* 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  83 

men  enjoy  it  more  than  the  men.    It  is  natural  for  women  to 

enjoy  pretty  colors,  and  flowers,  and  bright  lights,  and  music ; 

and  J  suppose  it  is  the  mild  air  that  lets  their  eyes  grow  so  big 

and  clear.     But  the  men — I  should  think  they  must  get  tired 

of  doing  nothing.      They  are  rather  melancholy,  and  their 

hands  are  white.     I  wonder  they  don't  begin  to  hate   Hyde 

Park,  and  kid  gloves,   and  tight  boots.      Ogilvie,"  said  he, 

suddenly,  straightening  himself  up,  "  what  do  you  say  to  the 

1 2th?   A  few  breathers  over  Ben-an-Sloich  would  put  new 

lungs  into  you.    I  don't  think  you  look  quite  so  limp  as  most 

of  the  London  men ;    but  still  you  are  not  up  to  the   mark. 

And  then  an  occasional  run  out  to  Coll  or  Tiree  in  that  old 

tub  of  ours,  with  a  brisk  sou'-wester  blowing  across — that 

would  put  some  mettle  into  you.     Mind  you,  you  won't  have 

any  grand  banquets  at   Castle  Dare.     I  think  it  is  hard  on 

the  poor  old  mother  that  she   should  have  all  the   pinching, 

and  none  of  the   squandering;   but > women  seem  to  have 

rather  a  liking  for  these  sacrifices,  and  both  she  and  Janet 

are  very  proud  of  the  family  name  ;  I  believe  they  would  live 

on  sea-weed  for  a  year  if  only  their  representative  in  London 

could  take  Buckingham  Palace  for  the  season.     And  Ham- 

ish — don't   you   remember    Hamish  1  —  he  will  give  you  a 

hearty  welcome  to  Dare,  and  he  will  tell  you  the  truth  about 

any  salmon  or  stag  you  may  kill,  though  he  was  never  known 

to  come  within  five  pounds  of  the  real  weight  of  any  big  salmon 

I  ever  caught.     Now  then,  what  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  Ah,  it  is  all  very  well,'^  said  Lieutenant  Ogilvie.  "  If  we 
could  all  get  what  we  want,  there  would  scarcely  be  an  offi- 
cer in  Aldershot  Camp  on  the  12th  of  August.  But  I  must 
say  there  are  some  capitally  good  fellows  in  our  mess — and  it 
isn't  every  one  gets  the  chance  you  offer  me — and  there's 
none  of  the  dog-in-the-manger  feeling  about  them  :  in  short. 
I  do  believe,  Macleod,  that  I  could  get  off  for  a  week  or  so 
about  the  20th." 

"  The  20th  }  So  be  it.  Then  you  will  have  the  blackcock 
added  in." 

"  When  do  you  leave  ?  " 

"  On  the  I  St  of  August — the  morning  after  my  garden 
party.  You  must  come  to  it,  Ogilvie.  Lady  Beauregard 
has  persuaded  her  husband  to  put  off  their  going  to  Ireland 
for  three  days  in  order  to  come.  And  I  have  got  old  Ad- 
miral Maitland  coming — with  his  stories  of  the  press-gang, 
and  of  Nelson,  and  of  the  raids  on  the  merchant-ships  for  offi- 
cers for  the  navy.     Did  you  know  that  Miss  Rawlinson  was 


84  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

an  old  sweetheart  of  his  ?  He  knew  her  when  she  lived  in 
Jamaica  with  her  father — several  centuries  ago  you  would 
think,  judging  by  their  stories.  Her  father  got  ;^28,ooo  from 
the  government  when  his  slaves  were  emancipated.  I  wish 
I  could  get  the  old  admiral  up  to  Dare — lie  and  the  mother 
would  have  some  stories  to  tell,  I  think.  But  you  don't  like 
long  journeys  at  ninety-two." 

He  was  in  a  pleasant  and  talkative  humor,  this  bright- 
faced  and  stalwart  young  fellow,  with  his  proud,  fine  features 
and  his  careless  air.  One  could  easily  see  how  these  old 
folks  had  made  a  sort  of  a  pet  of  him.  But  while  he  went  on 
with  this  desultory  chatting  about  the  various  people  whom 
he  had  met,  and  the  friendly  invitations  he  had  received, 
and  the  hopes  he  had  formed  of  renewing  his  acquantaince- 
ship  with  this  person  and  the  next  person,  should  chance 
bring  him  again  to  London  soon,  he  never  once  mentioned 
the  name  of  Miss  Gertrude  White,  or  referred  to  her  family, 
or  even  to  her  public  appearances,  about  which  there  was 
plenty  of  talk  at  this  time.  Yet  Lieutenant  Ogilvie,  on  his 
rare  visits  to  London,  had  more  than  once  heard  Sir  Keith 
Macleod's  name  mentioned  in  conjunction  with  that  of  the 
young  actress  whom  society  was  pleased  to  regard  with  a 
special  and  unusual  favor  just  then  ;  and  once  or  twice  he, 
as  Macleod's  friend,  had  been  archly  questioned  on  the  sub- 
ject by  some  inquisitive  lady,  whose  eyes  asked  more  than 
her  words.  But  Lieutenant  Ogilvie  was  gravely  discreet. 
He  neither  treated  the  matter  with  ridicule,  nor,  on  the 
other  hand,  did  he  pretend  to  know  more  than  he  actually 
knew — which  was  litterally  nothing  at  all.  For  Macleod,  who 
was,  in  ordinary  circumstances,  anything  but  a  reserved  or 
austere  person,  was  on  this  subject  strictly  silent,  evading 
questions  with  a  proud  and  simple  dignity  that  forbade  the 
repetition  of  them.  "  The  thing  that  concerns  you  not,  meddle 
not  with  :  "  he  observed  the  maxim  himself,  and  expected 
others  to  do  the  like. 

It  was  an  early  dinner  they  had  had,  after  their  stroll  in 
Richmond  Park,  and  it  was  a  comparatively  early  train  that 
Macleod  and  his  friend  now  drove  down  to  catch,  after  he  had 
paid  his  bill.  When  they  reached  Waterloo  Station  it  was  not 
yet  eleven  o'clock ;  when  he,  having  bade  good-bye  to  Oglivie, 
got  to  his  rooms  in  Bury  Street,  it  was  but  a  few  minutes  after. 
He  was  joyfully  welcomed  by  his  faithful  friend  Oscar. 

"  You  poor  dog,"  said  he,  "  here  have  we  been  enjoying 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  85 

ourselves  all  the  day,  and  you  have  been  m  prison.  Come, 
shall  we  go  for  a  run  ? " 

Oscar  jumped  up  on  him  with  a  whine  of  delight ;  he 
knew  what  that  taking  up  of  the  hat  again  meant.  And  then 
there  was  a  silent  stealing  downstairs,  and  a  slight,  pardon- 
able bark  of  joy  in  the  hall,  and  a  wild  dash  into  the  freedom 
of  the  narrow  street  when  the  door  was  opened.  Then  Oscar 
moderated  his  transports,  and  kept  pretty  close  to  his  master 
as  together  they  began  to  wander  through  the  desert  wilds  of 
London. 

Piccadilly  ? — Oscar  had  grown  as  expert  in  avoiding  the 
rattling  broughams  and  hansoms  as  the  veriest  mongrel  that 
ever  led  a  vagrant  life  in  London  streets.  Berekely  Square  ? 
— here  there  was  comparative  quiet,  with  the  gas  lamps 
shining  up  on  the  thick  foliage  of  the  maples.  In  Grosvenor 
Square  he  had  a  bit  of  a  scamper ;  but  there  was  no  rabbit  to 
hunt.  In  Oxford  Street  his  master  took  him  into  a  public- 
house  and  gave  him  a  biscuit  and  a  drink  of  water ;  after 
that  his  spirits  rose  a  bit,  and  he  began  to  range  ahead  in 
Baker  Street.  But  did  Oscar  know  any  more  than  his  mas- 
ter why  they  had  taken  this  direction  ? 

Still  farther  north  ;  and  now  there  were  a  good  many 
trees  about ;  and  the  moon,  high  in  the  heavens,  touched  the 
trembling  foliage,  and  shone  white  on  the  front  of  the  houses. 
Oscar  was  a  friendly  companion ;  but  he  could  not  be  ex- 
pected to  notice  that  his  master  glanced  somewhat  nervously 
along  South  Bank  when  he  had  reached  the  entrance  to  that 
thoroughfare.  Apparently  the  place  was  quite  deserted; 
there  was  nothing  visible  but  the  walls,  trees,  and  houses, 
one  side  in  black  shadow,  the  other  shining  cold  and  pale  in 
the  moonlight.  After  a  moment's  hesitation  Macleod  re- 
sumed his  walk,  though  he  seemed  to  tread  more  softly. 

And  now,  in  the  perfect  silence,  he  neared  a  certain  house, 
though  but  little  of  it  was  visible  over  the  wall  and  through 
the  trees.  Did  he  expect  to  see  a  light  in  one  of  those  upper 
windows,  which  the  drooping  acacias  did  not  altogether  con- 
ceal. He  walked  quickly  by,  with  his  head  ^verted.  Oscar 
had  got  a  good  way  in  front,  not  doubting  that  his  master 
was  following  him. 

But  Macleod,  perhaps  having  mustered  up  further  cour- 
age, stopped  in  his  walk,  and  returned.  This  time  he  passed 
more  slowly,  and  turned  his  head  to  the  house,  as  if  listening. 
There  was  no  light  in  the  windows ;  there  was  no  sound  at 
all ;  there  was  no  motion  but  that  of  the  trembling  acacia 


85  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

leaves  as  the  cold  wind  of  the  night  stirred  them.  And  then 
he  passed  over  to  the  south  side  of  the  thoroughfare,  and 
stood  in  the  black  shadow  of  a  high  wall ;  and  Oscar  came 
and  looked  up  into  his  face. 

A  brougham  rattled  by ;  then  there  was  utter  stillness 
again  ;  and  the  moonlight  shone  on  the  front  of  the  small 
house,  which  was  to  all  appearances  as  lifeless  as  the  grave. 
Then,  far  away^  twelve  o'clock  struck,  and  the  sound  seemed 
distant  as  the  sound  of  a  bell  at  sea  in  this  intense  quiet. 

He  was  alone  with  the  night,  and  with  the  dreams  and 
fancies  of  the  night.  Would  he,  then,  confess  to  himself  that 
which  he  would  confess  to  no  other  "i  Or  was  it  merely  some 
passing  whim — some  slight  underchord  of  sentiment  struck 
amidst  the  careless  joy  of  a  young  man's  holiday — that  had 
led  him  up  into  the  silent  region  of  trees  and  moonlight  ? 
The  scene  around  him  v/as  romantic  enough,  but  he  certainly 
had  not  the  features  of  an  anguish-stricken  lover. 

Again  the  silence  of  the  night  was  broken  by  the  rum- 
bling of  a  cab  that  came  along  the  road  ;  and  now,  whatever 
may  have  been  the  fancy  that  brought  him  hither,  he  turned 
to  leave,  and  Oscar  joyfully  bounded  out  into  the  road.  But 
the  cab,  instead  of  continuing  its  route,  stopped  at  the  gate 
of  the  house  he  had  been  watching,  and  two  young  ladies 
stepped  out.  Fionaghal,  the  Fair  Stranger,  had  not,  then, 
been  wandering  in  the  enchanted  land  of  dreams,  but  toiling 
home  in  a  humble  four-wheeler  from  the  scene  of  her  anxious 
labors  ?  He  would  have  slunk  away  rapidly  but  for  an  un- 
toward accident.  Oscar,  ranging  up  and  down,  came  upon 
an  old  friend,  and  instantly  made  acquaintance  with  her,  on 
seeing  which,  Macleod,  with  deep  vexation  at  his  heart,  but 
with  a  pleasant  and  careless  face,  had  to  walk  along  also. 

"  What  an  odd  meeting !  "  said  he.  "  I  have  been  giving 
Oscar  a  run.  I  am  glad  to  have  a  chance  of  bidding  you 
good-night.     You  are  not  very  tired,  I  hope." 

"  I  am  rather  tired,"  said  she  ;  "  but  I  have  only  two  more 
nights,  and  then  my  holiday  begins. 

He  shook  hands  with  both  sisters,  and  wished  them  good- 
night, and  departed.  As  Miss  Gertrude  White  went  into  her 
father's  house  she  seemed  rather  grave. 

"  Gerty,"  said  the  younger  sister,  as  she  screwed  up  the 
gas,  "  wouldn't  the  name  of  Lady  Macleod  look  well  in  a 
play-bill  ?  " 

The  elder  sister  would  not  answer :  but  as  she  turned 


MACLEOD  OP  DARE.  87 

away  there  was  a  quick  flush  of  color  in  her  face — ^whether 
caused  by  anger  or  by  a  sudden  revelation  of  her  own 
thought  it  was  impossible  to  say. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A    FLOWER. 

The  many  friends  Macleod  had  made  in  the  South — or 
rather  those  of  them  who  had  remained  in  town  till  the  end 
of  the  season — showed  an  unwonted  interest  in  this  nonde- 
script party  of  his  ;  and  it  was  at  a  comparatively  early  hour 
in  the  evening  that  the  various  groups  of  people  began  to 
show  themselves  in  Miss  Rawlinson's  garden.  That  prim 
old  lady,  with  her  quick,  bright  ways,  and  her  humorous  little 
speeches,  studiously  kept  herself  in  the  background.  It  was 
Sir  Keith  Macleod  who  was  the  host.  And  when  he  remark- 
ed to  her  that  he  thought  the  most  beautiful  night  of  all  the 
beautiful  time  he  had  spent  in  the  South  had  been  reserved 
for  this  very  party,  she  replied — looking  round  the  garden 
just  as  if  she  had  been  one  of  his  guests — that  it  was  a  pretty 
scene.  And  it  was  a  pretty  scene.  The  last  fire  of  the  sun- 
set was  just  touching  the  topmost  branches  of  the  trees.  In 
the  colder  shade  below,  the  banks  and  beds  of  flowers  and 
the  costumes  of  the  ladies  acquired  a  strange  intensity  of 
color.  Then  there  was  a  band  playing,  and  a  good  deal  of 
chatting  going  on,  and  one  old  gentleman  with  a  grizzled 
mustache  humbly  receiving  lessons  in  lawn  tennis  from  an  im- 
perious small  maiden  of  ten.  Macleod  was  here,  there,  and 
everywhere.  The  lanterns  were  to  be  lit  while  the  people 
were  in  at  supper.  Lieutenant  Ogilvie  was  directed  to  take 
in  Lady  Beauregard  when  the  time  arrived. 

"  You  must  take  her  in  yourself,  Macleod,"  said  that 
properly  constituted  youth.  "  If  you  outrage  the  sacred  laws 
of  precedence " 

"I  mean  to  take  Miss  Rawlinson  in  to  supper,"  said 
Macleod  ;  "  she  is  the  oldest  woman  here,  and  I  think,  my 
best  friend." 

"  I  thought  you  might  wish  to  give  Miss  White  the  place 
of  honor,"  said  Ogilvie,  out  of  sheer  impertinence  ;  but  Mac- 


gg  MACLEOD  OE  DARE. 

leod  went  off  to  order  the  candles  to  be  lit  in  the  marquee, 
where  supper  was  laid. 

By  and  by  he  came  out  again.  And  now  the  twilight  had 
drawn  on  apace  ;  there  was  a  cold,  clear  light  in  the  skies, 
while  at  the  same  moment  a  red  glow  began  to  shine  through 
the  canvas  of  the  long  tent.  He  walked  over  to  one  little 
group  who  were  seated  on  a  garden  chair. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  have  got  pretty  nearly  all  my  people 
together  now,  Mrs.  Ross." 

"  But  where  is  Gertrude  Wliite  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Ross ;  "  surely 
she  is  to  be  here  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  think  so,"  said  he.  "  Her  father  and  herself 
both  promised  to  come.  You  know  her  holidays  have  begun 
now." 

"  It  is  a  good  thing  for  that  girl,"  said  Miss  Rawlinson, 
in  her  quick,  staccato  fashion,  "  that  she  has  few  holidays. 
Very  good  thing  she  has  her  work  to  mind.  The  way  people 
run  after  her  would  turn  any  woman's  head.     The  Grand 

D is  said  to  have  declared  that  she  was  one  of  the  three 

prettiest  women  he  saw  in  England  :  what  can  you  expect  if 
ihings  like  that  get  to  a  girl's  ears  t  " 

"But  you  know  Gerty  is  quite  unspoiled,"  said  Mrs. 
Ross,  warmly. 

"  Yes,  so  far,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  So  far  she  retains  the 
courtesy  of  being  hypocritical." 

"Oh,  Miss  Rawlinson,  I  won't  have  you  say  such  things 
of  Gerty  White  !  Mrs.  Ross  protested.  You  are  a  wicked 
old  woman — isn't  she  Hugh  ? " 

"  I  am  saying  it  to  her  credit,"  continued  the  old  lady., 
with  much  composure.  "  What  I  say  is,  that  most  pretty 
women  who  are  much  nm  after  are  flattered  into  frankness. 
When  they  are  introduced  to  you,  they  don't  take  the  trouble 
to  conceal  that  they  are  quite  indifferent  to  you.  A  plain 
woman  will  be  decently  civil,  and  will  smile,  and  pretend  she 
is  pleased.  A  beauty — a  recognized  beauty — doesn't  take  the 
trouble  to  be  hypocritical.     Now  Miss  White  does." 

"  It  is  an  odd  sort  of  compliment,"  said  Colonel  Ross, 
laughing.     "  What  do  you  think  of  it  Macleod  t  " 

"  These  are  too  great  refinements  for  my  comprehen- 
sion," said  he,  modestly.  "  I  think  if  a  pretty  woman  is  un- 
civil to  you,  it  is  easy  for  you  to  turn  on  your  heel  and  go 
away." 

"  I  did  not  say  uncivil — don't  you  go  misrepresenting  a 
poor  old  woman,  Sir  Keith.     I  said  she  is  most  likely  to  be 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  89 

flattered  into  being  honest — into  showing  a  stranger  that  she 
is  quite  indifferent,  whereas  a  plain  woman  will  try  to  make 
herself  a  little  agreeable.  Now  a  poor  lone  creature  like  my 
self  likes  to  fancy  that  people  are  glad  to  see  her,  and  Miss 
White  pretends  as  much.  It  is  very  kind.  By  and  by  she 
will  get  spoiled  like  the  rest,  and  then  she  will  become  hon- 
est. She  will  shake  hands  with  me,  and  then  turn  off,  as 
much  as  to  say,  '  Go  away,  you  ugly  old  woman,  for  I  can't 
be  bothered  with  you,  and  I  don't  expect  any  money  from 
you,  and  why  should  I  pretend  to  like  you  ?  " 

All  this  was  said  in  a  half-jesting  way ;  and  it  certainly 
did  not  at  all  represent — so  far  as  Macleod  had  ever  made 
out — the  real  opinions  of  her  neighbors  in  the  world  held  by 
this  really  kind  and  gentle  old  lady.  But  Macleod  had  no- 
ticed before  that  Miss  Rawlinson  never  spoke  with  any  great 
warmth  about  Miss  Gertrude  White's  beauty,  or  her  acting, 
or  anything  at  all  connected  with  her.  At  this  very  moment, 
when  she  was  apparently  praising  the  young  lady,  there  was 
a  bitter  flavor  about  what  she  said.  There  may  be  jealousy 
between  sixty-five  and  nineteen ;  and  if  this  reflection  oc- 
curred to  Macleod,  he  no  doubt  assumed  that  Miss  Rawlin- 
son, if  jealous  at  all,  was  jealous  of  Miss  Gertrude  White's 
influence  over — Mrs.  Ross. 

"  As  for  Miss  White's  father,"  continued  the  old  lady, 
with  a  little  laugh,  "  perhaps  he  believes  in  those  sublime 
theories  of  art  he  is  always  preaching  about.  Perhaps  he 
does.  They  are  very  fine.  One  result  of  them  is  that  his 
daughter  remains  on  the  stage — and  earns  a  handsome  in- 
come— and  he  enjoys  himself  in  picking  up  bits  of  curiosi- 
ties." 

"  Now  that  is  really  unfair,"  said  Mrs.  Ross,  seriously. 
"  Mr.  White  is  not  a  rich  man,  but  he  has  some  small  means 
that  render  him  quite  independent  of  any  income  of  his 
daughter's.  Why,  how  did  they  live  before  they  ever  thought 
of  letting  her  try  her  fortune  on  the  stage  ?  And  the  money 
he  spent,  when  it  was  at  last  decided  she  should  be  carefully 
taught " 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Miss  Rawlinson,  with  a  smile  ;  but 
she  nodded  her  head  ominously.  If  that  old  man  was  not  ac- 
tually living  on  his  daughter's  earnings,  he  had  at  least 
strangled  his  mother,  or  robbed  the  Bank  of  England,  or 
done  something  or  other.  Miss  Rawlinson  was  obviously 
not  well  disposed  either  to  Mr.  White  or  to  his  daughter. 

At  this  very  moment  both  these  persons  made  their  ap- 


po  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

pearance,  and  certainly,  as  this  slender  and  graceful  figure, 
clad  in  a  pale  summer  costume,  came  across  the  lawn,  and  as 
a  smile  of  recognition  lit  up  the  intelligent  fine  face,  these 
critics  sitting  there  must  have  acknowledged  that  Gertrude 
White  was  a  singularly  pretty  woman.  And  then  the  fasci- 
nation of  that  low-toned  voice  !  She  began  to  explain  to 
Macleod  why  they  were  so  late  :  some  trifling  accident  had 
happened  to  Carry.  But  as  these  simple,  pathetic  tones  told 
him  the  story,  his  heart  was  filled  with  a  great  gentleness  and 
pity  towards  that  poor  victim  of  misfortune.  He  was  struck 
with  remorse  because  he  had  sometimes  thought  harshly  of 
the  poor  child  on  account  of  a  mere  occasional  bit  of  pert- 
ness.  His  first  message  from  the  Highlands  would  be  to 
her, 

"  O,  Willie  brew'd  a  peck  o'maut," 

the  band  played  merrily,  as  the  gay  company  took  their  seats 
at  the  long  banquet-table,  Macleod  leading  in  the  prim  old 
dame  who  had  placed  her  house  at  his  disposal.  There  was 
a  blaze  of  light  and  color  in  this  spacious  marquee.  Bands  of 
scarlet  took  the  place  of  oaken  rafters  ;  there  were  huge 
blocks  of  ice  on  the  table,  each  set  in  a  miniature  lake  that 
was  filled  with  white  water-lilies  ;  there  were  masses  of  flow- 
ers and  fruit  from  one  end  to  the  other  ;  and  by  the  side  of 
each  menu  lay  a  tiny  nosegay,  in  the  centre  of  which  was  a 
sprig  of  bell-heather.  This  last  was  a  notion  of  Macleod's 
amiable  hostess ;  she  had  made  up  those  miniature  bouquets 
herself.  But  she  had  been  forestalled  in  the  pretty  compli- 
ment. Macleod  had  not  seen  much  of  Miss  Gertrude  White 
in  the  cold  twilight  outside.  Now,  in  this  blaze  of  yellow 
light,  he  turned  his  eyes  to  her,  as  she  sat  there  demurely 
flirting  with  an  old  admiral  of  ninety-two,  who  was  one  of 
Macleod's  special  friends.  And  what  was  that  flower  she  wore 
in  her  bosom — the  sole  piece  of  color  in  the  costume  of 
white  ?  That  was  no  sprig  of  blood-red  bell-heather,  but  a  bit 
of  real  heather — of  the  common  ling ;  and  it  was  set  amidst  a 
few  leaves  of  juniper.  Now,  the  juniper  is  the  badge  of  the 
Clan  Macleod.     She  wore  it  next  her  heart. 

There  was  laughter,  and  wine,  and  merry  talking. 

"  Last  May  a  braw  wooer,' 

the  band  played  now ;  but  they  scarcely  listened. 

"Where   is  your  piper.  Sir  Kei<^h  ?  "  <:aid   T.adv  Beaure- 
gard. 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  91' 

"  At  this  moment,"  said  he,  "  I  should  not  wonder  if  he 
was  down  at  the  shore,  waiting  for  me." 
"  You  are  going  away  quite  soon,  then  ?  " 
"  To-morrow.     But  I  don't  wish  to  speak  of  it.     I  should 
like  to-night  to  last  forever." 

Lady  Beauregard  was  interrupted  by  her  neighbor. 
"  What  has  pleased  you,  then,  so  much  ?  "  said  his  hostess, 
looking  up  at  him.     "  London  ?     Or  the  people  in  it  ?     Oi 
any  one  person  in  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  laughingly,  "  the  whole  thing.  What  is 
the  use  of  dissecting  ?  It  is  nothing  but  holiday  making  in 
this  place.  Now,  Miss  Rawlinson,  are  you  brave  ?  Won't 
you  challenge  the  admiral  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine  with  you  t 
And  you  must  include  his  companion — just  as  they  do  at  the 
city  dinners — and  I  will  join  you  too." 

And  so  these  old  sweethearts  drank  to  each  other.  And 
Macleod  raised  his  glass  too  ;  and  Miss  White  lowered  her 
eyes,  and  perhaps  flushed  a  little  as  she  touched  hers  with 
her  lips,  for  she  had  not  often  been  asked  to  take  a  part  in  this 
old-fashioned  ceremony.  But  that  was  not  the  only  custom 
they  revived  that  evening.  After  the  banquet  was  over,  and 
the  ladies  had  got  some  light  shawls  and  gone  out  into  the 
mild  summer  night,  and  when  the  long  marquee  was  cleared, 
and  the  band  installed  at  the  farther  end,  then  there  was  a 
murmured  talk  of  a  minuet.  Who  could  dance  it  ?  Should 
they  try  it  1 

"  You  know  it  ?  "  said  Macleod  to  Miss  White. 

"  Yes,"  said  she  looking  down. 

"  Will  you  be  my  partner  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure,"  she  answered,  but  there  was  some  little 
surprise  in  her  voice  which  he  at  once  detected. 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "  the  mother  taught  me  when  I  was  a  child. 
She  and  I  used  to  have  grand  dances  together.  And  Hamish 
he  taught  me  the  sword-dance." 

"  Do  you  know  the  sword-dance  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Any  one  can  know  it,"  said  he  ;  "  it  is  more  difficult  to 
do  it.  But  at  one  time  I  could  dance  it  viith  four  of  the 
thickest  handled  dirks  instead  of  the  two  swords." 

"  I  hope  you  will  show  us  your  skill  to-night,"  she  said, 
with  a  smile. 

" Do  you  think  any  one  can  dance  the  sword-dance  v.ith- 
out  the  pipes  ?  "  said  he,  quite  simply. 

And  now  some  of  the  younger  people  had  made  bold  to 
tr}'  this  minuet,  and  Macleod  led  his  partner  up  to  the  head 


92  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

of  the  improvised  ball-room,  and  the  slow  and  graceful  music 
began.  That  was  a  pretty  sight  for  those  walking  outside  in 
the  garden.  So  warm  was  the  night  that  the  canvas  of  one 
side  of  the  marquee  had  been  removed,  and  those  walking 
about  in  the  dark  outside  could  look  into  this  gayly  lighted 
place  with  the  beautifully  colored  figures  moving  to  the  slow 
music.  And  as  they  thus  walked  along  the  gravel-paths,  or 
under  the  trees,  the  stems  of  which  were  decorated  with 
spirals  of  colored  lamps,  a  new  light  arose  in  the  south  to 
shed  a  further  magic  over  the  scene.  Almost  red  at  first, 
the  full  moon  cleared  as  it  rose,  until  the  trees  and  bushes 
were  touched  with  a  silver  radiance,  and  the  few  people  who 
walked  about  threw  black  shadows  on  the  greensward  and 
gravel.  In  an  arbor  at  the  farthest  end  of  the  garden  a 
number  of  Chinese  lanterns  shed  a  dim  colored  light  on  a 
table  and  a  few  rocking-chairs.  There  were  cigarettes  on 
the  table. 

By  and  by  from  out  of  the  brilliancy  of  the  tent  stepped 
Macleod  and  Fionaghal  herself,  she  leaning  on  his  arm,  a 
light  scarf  thrown  round  her  neck.  She  uttered  a  slight  cry 
of  surprise  when  she  saw  the  picture  this  garden  presented — 
the  colored  cups  on  the  trees,  the  swinging  lanterns,  the 
broader  sheen  of  the  moonlight  spreading  over  the  foliage, 
and  the  lawn,  and  the  walks. 

"  It  is  like  fairyland  !  "  she  said. 

They  walked  along  the  winding  gravel-paths  ;  and  now 
that  some  familiar  quadrille  was  being  danced  in  that  bril- 
liant tent,  there  were  fewer  people  out  here  in  the  moon- 
light. 

"  I  should  begin  to  believe  that  romance  was  possible," 
she  said,  with  a  smile,  "  if  I  often  saw  a  beautiful  scene  like 
this.  It  is  what  we  try  to  get  in  the  theatre  ;  but  I  see  all 
the  bare  boards  and  the  lime  light — I  don't  have  a  chance  of 
believing  in  it." 

"  Do  you  have  a  chance  of  believing  in  anything,"  said 
he,  "  on  the  stage  ?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  she  said,  gently  ;  for  she  was 
sure  he  would  not  mean  the  rudeness  that  his  words  literally 
conveyed. 

"  And  perhaps  I  cannot  explain,"  said  he.  "  But — ^but 
your  father  was  talking  the  other  day  about  your  giving  your* 
self  up  altogether  to  your  art — living  the  lives  of  other  peo- 
ple for  the  time  being,  forgetting  yourself,  sacrificing  your- 
self, having  no  life  of  your  own  but  that.     What  must  the 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  93 

end  of  it  be  ?  —  that  you  play  with  emotions  and  beliefs  until 
you  have  no  faith  in  any  one — none  left  for  yourself  ;  it  is 
only  the  material  of  your  art.  Would  you  not  rather  like  to 
live  your  own  life  ?  " 

He  had  spoken  rather  hesitatingly,  and  he  was  not  at  all 
sure  that  he  had  quite  con  veyed  to  her  his  meaning,  though 
he  had  thought  over  the  subject  long  enough  and  often 
enough  to  get  his  own  impressions  of  it  clear. 

If  she  had  been  ten  years  older,  and  an  experienced  co- 
quette, she  would  have  said  to  herself,  "  This  man  hates  the 
stage  because  he  is  jealous  of  its  hold  07i  my  hfe"  and  she  would 
have  rejoiced  over  the  inadvertent  confession.  But  now  these 
hesitating  words  of  his  seemed  to  have  awakened  some  quick 
responsive  thrill  in  her  nature,  for  she  suddenly  said,  with  an 
earnestness  that  was  not  at  all  assumed  : 

"  Sometimes  I  have  thought  of  that — it  is  so  strange  to 
hear  my  own  doubts  repeated.  If  I  could  choose  my  own 
life — ^yes,I  would  rather  live  that  out  than  merely  imagining 
the  experiences  of  others.  But  what  is  one  to  do  ?  You  look 
around,  and  take  the  world  as  it  is.  Can  anything  be  more 
trivial  and  disappointing  ?  When  you  are  Juliet  in  the  bal- 
cony, or  Rosalind  in  the  forest,  then  you  have  some  better 
feeling  with  you,  if  it  is  only  for  an  hour  or  so." 

"  Yes,"  said  he  ;  "  and  you  go  on  indulging  in  those  doses 

of  fictitious  sentiment  until But  I  am  afraid  the  night 

air  is  too  cold  for  you.     Shall  we  go  back  ?  " 

She  could  not  fail  to  notice  the  trace  of  bitterness,  and 
subsequent  coldness,  with  which  he  spoke.  She  knew  that 
he  must  have  been  thinking  deeply  over  this  matter,  and  that 
it  was  no  ordinary  thing  that  caused  him  to  speak  with  so 
much  feeling.  But,  of  course,  when  he  proposed  that  they 
should  return  to  the  marquee,  she  consented.  He  could  not 
expect  her  to  stand  there  and  defend  her  whole  manner  of 
life.  Much  less  could  he  expect  her  to  give  up  her  profes- 
sion merely  because  he  had  exercised  his  wits  in  getting  up 
some  fantastic  theory  about  it.  And  she  began  to  think  that 
he  had  no  right  to  talk  to  her  in  this  bitter  fashion. 

When  they  had  got  half  way  back  to  the  tent,  he  paused 
for  a  moment. 

"  I  am  going  to  ask  a  favor  of  you,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  I  have  spent  a  pleasant  time  in  England,  and  I 
cannot  tell  you  how  gratefut  I  am  to  you  for  letting  me  be- 
come one  of  your  friends.     To-morrow  morning  I  am  going 


94 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


back  home.  I  should  like  you  to  give  me  that  flower — as 
some  little  token  of  remembrance." 

The  small  lingers  did  not  tremble  at  all  as  she  took  the 
flower  from  her  dress.  She  presented  it  to  him  with  a  charm- 
ing smile  and  without  a  word.  What  was  the  giving  of  a 
flower  ?  There  was  a  cart-load  of  roses  in  the  tent. 

But  this  flower  she  had  worn  next  her  heart. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

WHITE   HEATHER. 


And  now  behold  !  the  red  flag  flying  from  the  summit  of 
Castle  Dare — a  spot  of  brilliant  color  in  this  world  of  whirl- 
ing mist  and  flashing  sunlight.  For  there  is  half  a  gale  blow- 
ing in  from  the  Atlantic,  and  gusty  clouds  come  sweeping 
over  the  islands,  so  that  now  the  Dutchman,  and  now  Fladda, 
and  now  Ulva  disappears  from  sight,  and  then  emerges  into 
the  sunlight  again,  dripping  and  shining  after  the  bath,  while 
ever  and  anon  the  huge  promontor}^  of  Ru-Treshanish  shows 
a  gloomy  purple  far  in  the  north.  But  the  wind  and  the 
weather  may  do  what  they  like  to-day ;  for  has  not  the  word 
just  come  down  from  the  hill  that  the  smoke  of  the  steamer 
has  been  made  out  in  the  south  ?  and  old  Hamish  is  flying 
this  way  and  that,  fairly  at  his  wits'  end  with  excitement ;  and 
Janet  Macleod  has  cast  a  last  look  at  the  decorations  of 
heather  and  juniper  in  the  great  hall ;  while  Lady  Macleod, 
dressed  in  the  most  stately  fashion,  has  declared  that  she  is 
as  able  as  the  youngest  of  them  to  walk  down  to  the  point  to 
welcome  home  her  son. 

"  Ay,  your  leddyship,  it  is  very  bad,"  complains  the  dis- 
Iracted  Hamish.  "  that  it  will  be  so  rough  a  day  this  day,  and 
Sir  Keith  not  to  come  ashore  in  his  own  gig,  but  in  a  fishing- 
boat,  and  to  come  ashore  at  the  fishing  quay,  too  ;  but  it  is 
his  own  men  will  go  out  for  him,  and  not  the  fishermen  at  all, 
though  I  am  sure  they  will  hef  a  dram  whatever  when  Sir 
Keith  comes  ashore.  And  will  you  not  tek  the  pony,  your 
leddyship  ?  for  it  is  a  long  road  to  the  quay." 

"  No,  I  will  not  take  the  pony,  Hamish,"  said  the  tall, 
white-haired  dame,  "  and  it  is  not  of  much  consequence  what 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


95 


boat  Sir  Keith  has,  so  long  as  he  comes  back  to  us.  And 
now  I  think  you  had  better  go  down  to  the  quay  yourself,  and 
see  that  the  cart  is  waiting  and  the  boat  ready." 

But  how  could  old  Hamish  go  down  to  the  quay  ?  He 
was  in  his  own  person  skipper,  head  keeper,  steward,  butler, 
and  general  major-domo,  and  ought  on  such  a  day  as  this  to 
have  been  in  half  a  dozen  places  at  once.  From  the  earliest 
morning  he  had  been  hurrying  hither  and  thither,  in  his  im- 
patience making  use  of  much  voluble  Gaelic.  He  had  seen 
the  yacht's  crew  in  their  new  jersies.  He  had  been  round 
the  kennels.  He  had  got  out  a  couple  of  bottles  of  the  best 
claret  that  Castle  Dare  could  afford.  He  had  his  master's 
letters  arranged  on  the  library  table,  and  had  given  a  final 
rub  to  the  guns  and  rifles  on  the  rack.  He  had  even  been 
down  to  the  quay,  swearing  at  the  salmon-fishers  for  having 
so  much  lumber  lying  about  the  place  where  Sir  Keith  Mac- 
leod  was  to  land.  And  if  he  was  to  go  down  to  the  quay 
now,  how  could  he  be  sure  that  the  ancient  Christiana,  who 
was  mistress  of  the  kitchen  as  far  as  her  husband  Hamish 
would  allow  her  to  be,  would  remember  all  his  instructions  ? 
And  then  the  little  grandaughter  Christiana,  would  she  re- 
member her  part  in  the  ceremony  ? 

However,  as  Hamish  could  not  be  in  six  places  at  once, 
he  decided  to  obey  his  mistress's  directions,  and  went  hur- 
riedly off  to  the  quay,  overtaking  on  his  way  Donald  the 
piper  lad,  who  was  apparelled  in  all  his  professional  finery. 

"  And  if  ever  you  put  wind  in  your  pipes,  you  will  put 
wind  in  your  pipes  this  day,  Donald,"  said  he  to  the  red- 
haired  lad.  "  And  I  will  tell  you  now  what  you  will  play 
when  you  come  ashore  from  the  steamer :  it  is  the  '  Farewell 
to  Chubraltar '  you  will  play." 

"  The  '  Farewell  to  Gibraltar  ! '  said  Donald,  peevishly, 
for  he  was  bound  in  honor  to  let  no  man  interfere  with  his 
proper  business.  "  It  is  a  better  march  than  that  I  will  play, 
Hamish.  It  is  the  '  Heights  of  Alma,'  that  was  made  by  Mr. 
Ross,  the  Queen's  own  piper ;  and  will  you  tell  me  that  the 
*  Heights  of  Alma  '  is  not  a  better  march  than  the  '  Farewell 
to  Gibraltar  ?  " 

Hamish  pretended  to  pay  no  heed  to  this  impertinent 
boy.  His  eye  was  fixed  on  a  distant  black  speck  that  was 
becoming  more  and  more  pronounced  out  there  amidst  the 
grays  and  greens  of  the  windy  and  sunlit  sea.  Occasionally 
it  disappeared  altogether,  as  a  cloud  of  rain  swept  across  to- 
ward the  giant  cliffs  of  Mnll,  and  then  again  it  would  appear, 


96  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

sharper  and  blacker  than  ever,  while  the  masts  and  funnel 
were  now  visible  as  well  as  the  hull.  When  Donald  and  his 
companion  got  down  to  the  quay,  they  found  the  men  already 
in  the  big  boat,  getting  ready  to  hoist  the  huge  brown  lug- 
sail  ;  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  laughing  and  talking  go- 
ing on,  perhaps  in  anticipation  of  the  dram  they  were  sure  to 
get  when  their  master  returned  to  Castle  Dare.  Donald 
jumped  down  on  the  rude  stone  ballast,  and  made  his  way  up 
to  the  bow  ;  Hamish,  who  remained  on  shore,  helped  to  shove 
her  off ;  then  the  heavy  lugsail  was  quickly  hoisted,  the  sheet 
hauled  tight ;  and  presently  the  broad-beamed  boat  was 
ploughing  its  way  through  the  rushing  seas,  with  an  occas- 
ional cloud  of  spray  coming  right  over  her  from  stem  to  stern. 
"  Fhir  a  bhata,"  the  men  sung,  until  Donald  struck  in  with  his 
pipes,  and  the  wild  skirl  of  "  The  Barren  Rocks  of  Aden  " 
was  a  fitter  sort  of  music  to  go  with  these  sweeping  winds 
and  plunging  seas. 

And  now  we  will  board  the  steamer,  where  Keith  Macleod 
is  up  on  the  bridge,  occasionally  using  a  glass,  and  again 
talking  to  the  captain,  who  is  beside  him.  First  of  all  on 
board  he  had  caught  sight  of  the  red  flag  floating  over  Castle 
Dare  ;  and  his  heart  had  leaped  up  at  that  sign  of  welcome. 
Then  he  could  make  out  the  dark  figures  on  the  quay,  and 
the  hoisting  of  the  lugsail,  and  the  putting  off  of  the  boat. 
It  was  not  a  good  day  for  observing  things,  for  heavy  clouds 
were  quickly  passing  over,  followed  by  bewildering  gleams 
of  a  sort  of  watery  sunlight ;  but  as  it  happened,  one  of  these 
sudden  flashes  chanced  to  light  up  a  small  plateau  on  the 
side  of  the  hill  above  the  quarry,  just  as  the  glass  was  directed 
on  that  point.     Surely — surely — these  two  figures  ? 

"  Why,  it  is  the  mother — and  Janet !  "  he  cried. 

He  hastily  gave  the  glass  to  his  companion. 

"  Look ! "  said  he.  "  Don't  you  think  that  is  Lady  Mac- 
leod and  my  cousin  ?  What  could  have  tempted  the  old  lady 
to  come  away  down  there  on  such  a  squally  day  ? " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  think  it  is  the  ladies,"  said  the  captain;  and 
then  he  added,  with  a  friendly  smile,  "  and  I  think  it  is  to 
see  you  all  the  sooner.  Sir  Keith,  that  they  have  come  down 
to  the  shore." 

"  Then,"  said  he,  "  I  must  go  down  and  get  my  gillie,  and 
show  him  his  future  home." 

He  went  below  the  hurricane  deck  to  a  corner  in  which 
Oscar  was  chained  up.  Beside  the  dog,  sitting  on  a  camp- 
stooi,  and  wrapped  round  with  a  tartan  plaid,  was  the  person 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  97 

whom  Macleod  had  doubtless  referred  to  as  his  gillie.  He 
was  not  a  distinguished-looking  attendant  to  be  travelling 
with  a  Highland  chieftain. 

"Johnny,  my  man,  come  on  deck  now,  and  I  will  show 
you  where  you  are  going  to  live.  You're  all  right  now,  aren't 
you }  And  you  will  be  on  the  solid  land  again  in  about  ten 
minutes." 

Macleod's  gillie  rose — or,  rather,  got  down — from  the 
campstool,  and  showed  himself  to  be  a  miserable,  emaciated 
child  of  ten  or  eleven,  with  a  perfectly  colorless  face,  fright- 
ened gray  eyes,  and  starved  white  hands.  The  contrast  be- 
tween the  bronzed  and  bearded  sailors — who  were  now  hurry- 
ing about  to  receive  the  boat  from  Dare — and  this  pallid  and 
shrunken  scrap  of  humanity  was  striking  ;  and  when  Macleod 
took  his  hand,  and  half  led  and  half  carried  him  up  on  deck, 
the  look  of  terror  that  he  directed  on  the  plunging  waters  all 
around  showed  that  he  had  not  had  much  experience  of  the 
sea.  Involuntarily  he  had  grasped  hold  of  Macleod's  coat  as 
if  for  protection. 

"  Now,  Johnny,  look  right  ahead.  Do  you  see  the  big 
house  on  the  cliffs  over  yonder  ?  " 

The  child,  still  clinging  on  to  his  protector,  looked  all 
round  with  the  dull,  pale  eyes,  and  at  length  said, — 

"  No." 

"  Can't  you  see  that  house,  poor  chap  t  Well,  do  you  see 
that  boat  over  there  ?     You  must  be  able  to  see  that." 

"Yes,  sir."  ^ 

"  That  boat  is  to  take  you  ashore.  You  needn't  be  afraid. 
If  you  don't  like  to  look  at  the  sea,  get  down  into  the  bottom 
of  the  boat,  and  take  Oscar  with  you,  and  you'll  see  nothing 
until  you  are  ashore.     Do  you  understand  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Come  along,  then." 

For  now  the  wild  skirl  of  Donald's  pipes  was  plainly  audi- 
ble ;  and  the  various  packages — the  new  rifle,  the  wooden 
case  containing  the  wonderful  dresses  for  Lady  Macleod  and 
her  niece,  and  what  not — were  all  ranged  ready  ;  to  say  noth- 
ing of  some  loaves  of  white  bread  that  the  steward  was  send- 
ing ashore  at  Hamish's  request.  And  then  the  heaving  boat 
came  close  to,  her  sail  hauled  down  ;  and  a  rope  was  thrown 
and  caught ;  and  then  there  was  a  hazardous  scrambling  down 
the  dripping  iron  steps,  and  a  notable  spring  on  the  part  of 
Oscar,  who  had  escaped  from  the  hands  of  the  sailors.  As 
tor  the  new  gillie,  he  resembled  nothing  so  much  as  a  limp 


gS  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

bunch  of  clothes,  as  Macleod's  men,  wondering  not  a  little, 
caught  him  up  and  passed  him  astern.  Then  the  rope  was 
thrown  off,  the  steamer  steamed  slowly  ahead,  the  lugsail 
was  run  up  again,  and  away  the  boat  plunged  for  the  shore, 
with  Donald  playing  the  "  Heights  of  Alma"  as  though  he 
would  rend  the  skies. 

"  Hold  your  noise,  Donald!  "  his  master  called  to  him. 
"  You  will  have  plenty  of  time  to  play  the  pipes  in  the  even 
ing." 

For  he  was  greatly  delighted  to  be  among  his  own  people 
again  ;  and  he  was  eager  in  his  questions  of  the  men  as  to  all 
that  had  happened  in  his  absence  ;  and  it  was  no  small  thing 
to  them  that  Sir  Keith  Macleod  should  remember  their 
affairs,  too,  and  ask  after  their  families  and  friends.  Donald's 
loyalty  was  stronger  than  his  professional  pride.  He  was 
not  offended  that  he  had  been  silenced ;  he  only  bottled  up 
his  musical  fervor  all  the  more  ;  and  at  length,  as  he  neared 
the  land,  and  knew  that  Lady  Macleod  and  Miss  Macleod 
were  within  hearing,  he  took  it  that  he  knew  better  than  any 
one  else  what  was  proper  to  the  occasion,  and  once  more  the 
proud  and  stirring  march  strove  with  the  sound  of  the  hurry- 
ing waves.  Nor  was  that  all.  The  piper  lad  was  doing  his 
best.  Never  before  had  he  put  such  fire  into  his  work  ;  but 
as  they  got  close  inshore  the  joy  in  his  heart  got  altogether 
the  mastery  of  him,  and  away  he  broke  into  the  mad  delight 
of  "  Lady  Mary  Ramsay's  Reel."  Hamish  on  the  quay  heard, 
and  he  strutted  about  as  if  he  were  himself  playing,  and  that 
before  the  Queen.  And  then  he  heard  another  sound — that 
of  Macleod's  voice  : 

"  Stand  by  lads  /  .  .  Down  with  her  I " — and  the  flapping 
sail,  with  its  swinging  gaff,  rattled  down  into  the  boat.  At 
the  same  moment  Oscar  made  a  clear  spring  into  the  water, 
gained  the  landing-steps,  and  dashed  upward — dripping  as  he 
was — to  two  ladies  who  were  standing  on  the  quay  above. 
And  Janet  Macleod  so  far  forgot  what  was  due  to  her  best 
gown  that  she  caught  his  head  in  her  arms,  as  he  pawed  and 
whined  with  delight. 

That  was  a  glad  enough  party  that  started  off  and  up  the 
hillside  for  Castle  Dare.  Janet  Macleod  did  not  care  to  con- 
ceal that  she  had  been  crying  a  little  bit ;  and  there  were 
proud  tears  in  the  eyes  of  the  stately  old  dame  who  walked 
with  her ;  but  the  most  excited  of  all  was  Hamish,  who  could 
by  no  means  be  got  to  understand  that  his  master  did  not 
all  at  once  want  to  hear  about  the  trial  of  the  young  setters. 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  ^^ 

and  the  price  of  the  sheep  sold  the  week  before  at  Tober- 
mory, and  the  st.ig  that  was  chased  by  the  Carsaig  men  on 
Tuesday. 

"  Confound  it,.  Hamish  !  "  Macleod  said,  laughing,  "  leave 
all  those  things  till  after  dinner." 

"  Oh,  ay,  oh  ay.  Sir  Keith,  we  will  hef  plenty  of  time  after 
dinner,"  said  Hamish,  just  as  if  he  were  one  of  the  party, 
but  very  nervously  working  with  the  ends  of  his  thumbs  all 
the  time,  "  and  I  will  tell  you  of  the  fine  big  stag  that  has 
been  coming  down  ever)^  night — every  night,  as  I  am  a  living 
man — to  Mrs.  Murdoch's  corn ;  and  I  wass  saying  to  her, 
*  Just  hold  your  tongue,  Mrs.  Murdoch ' — that  wass  what  I 
will  say  to  her — 'just  hold  your  tongue,  Mrs.  Murdoch,  and 
be  a  civil  woman,  for  a  day  or  two  days,  and  when  Sir  Keitn 
comes  home  it  iss  no  more  at  all  the  stag  will  trouble  you — • 
oh  no,  no  more  at  all  ;  there  will  be  no  more  trouble  about 
the  stag  when  Sir  Keith  comes  home." 

And  old  Hamish  laughed  at  his  own  wit,  but  it  was  in 
a  sort  of  excited  way. 

"  Look  here,  Hamish,  I  want  you  to  do  this  for  me," 
Macleod  said  ;  and  instantly  the  face  of  the  old  man — it  was 
a  fine  face,  too,  with  its  aquiline  nose,  and  grizzled  hair,  and 
keen  hawk-like  eyes — was  full  of  an  eager  attention.  "  Go 
back  and  fetch  that  little  boy  I  left  with  Donald.  You  had 
better  look  after  him  yourself.  I  don't  think  any  water  came 
over  him ;  but  give  him  dry  clothes  if  he  i:s  wet  at  all.  And 
feed  him  up  :  the  little  beggar  will  take  a  lot  of  fattening 
without  any  harm." 

"  Where  is  he  to  go  to  ?  "  said  Hamish,  doubtfully. 

"  You  are  to  make  a  keeper  of  him.  When  you  have  fat- 
tened him  up  a  bit,  teach  him  to  feed  the  dogs.  When  he 
g(its  bigger,  he  can  clean  the  guns." 

"  I  will  let  no  man  or  boy  clean  the  guns  for  you  but  my- 
self, Sir  Keith,"  the  old  man  said,  quite  simply,  and  without 
a  shadow  of  disrespect,  "  I  will  hef  no  risks  of  the  kind." 

"  Very  well,  then  ;  but  go  and  get  the  boy,  and  make  him 
at  home  as  much  as  you  can.     Feed  him  up." 

"  Who  is  it,  Keith  t "  his  cousin  said,  "  that  you  are' 
speaking  of  as  if  he  was  a  sheep  or  a  calf  ?  " 

*'  Faith,"  said  he,  laughing,  "  if  the  philanthropists  heard 
of  it,  they  would  prosecute  me  for  slave-stealing.  I  bought 
the  boy — for  a  sovereign," 

"I    think  you  have   made  a  bad  bargain,  Keith,"  his 


100  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

mother  said ;  but  she  was  quite  prepared  to  hear  of  some  ab- 
surd whim  oJE  his. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  v/as  going  into  Trafalgar  Square, 
where  the  National  Gallery  of  pictures  is,  mother,  and  there 
is  a  cab-stand  in  the  street,  and  there  was  a  cabman  standing 
there,  munching  at  a  lump  of  dry  bread  that  he  cut  with  a 
jack-knife.  I  never  saw  a  cabman  do  that  before  ;  I  should 
have  been  less  surprised  if  he  had  been  having  a  chicken  and 
a  bottle  of  port.  However,  in  front  of  this  big  cabman  this 
little  chap  I  have  brought  with  me  was  standing ;  quite  in 
rags ;  no  shoes  on  his  feet,  no  cap  on  his  wild  hair ;  and  he 
was  looking  fixedly  at  the  big  lump  of  bread.  I  never  saw 
any  animal  look  so  starved  and  so  hungry ;  his  eyes  were 
quite  glazed  with  the  fascination  of  seeing  the  man  plough- 
ing away  at  thi-s  lump  of  loaf.  And  I  never  saw  any  child  so 
thin.  His  hands  were  like  the  claws  of  a  bird ;  and  his 
trousers  were  short  and  torn  so  that  you  could  see  his  legs 
were  like  two  pipe-stems.  At  last  the  cabman  saw  him.  *  Get 
out  o'  the  way,'  says  he.  The  little  chap  slunk  off,  fright- 
ened, I  suppose.  Then  the  man  changed  his  mind.  *  Come 
here,'  says  he.  But  the  little  chap  was  frightened,  and 
wouldn't  come  back ;  so  he  went  after  him,  and  thrust  the 
loaf  into  his  hand,  and  bade  him  be  off.  I  can  tell  you,  the 
way  he  went  into  that  loaf  was  very  fine  to  see.  It  was  like 
a  weasel  at  the  neck  of  a  rabbit.  It  was  like  an  otter  at  the 
back  of  a  salmon.  And  that  was  how  I  made  his  acquaint- 
ance," Macleod  added,  carelessly. 

"  But  you  have  not  told  us  why  you  brought  him  up  here," 
his  mother  said. 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  with  a  sort  of  laugh,  "  I  was  looking  at 
him,  and  I  wondered  whether  Highland  mutton  and  High- 
land air  would  make  any  difference  in  the  wretched  little 
skeleton  ;  and  so  I  made  his  acquaintance.  I  went  home 
with  him  to  a  fearful  place — I  have  got  the  address,  but  I 
did  not  know  there  were  such  quarters  in  London — and  I  saw 
his  mother.  The  poor  woman  was  very  ill,  and  she  had  a 
lot  of  children ;  and  she  seemed  quite  glad  when  I  offered  to 
take  this  one  and  make  a  herd  or  a  gamekeeper  of  him.  I 
promised  he  should  go  to  visit  her  once  a  year,  that  she  might 
see  whether  there  was  any  difference.  And  I  gave  her  a 
sovereign." 

"  You  were  quite  right,  Keith,"  his  cousin  said,  gravely  ; 
"  You  run  a  great  risk.     Do  they  hang  slavers  ? " 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  for  by  this  time  the  ladies  were  stand 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  iqi. 

ing  still,  so  that  Hamish  and  the  new  gillie  should  overtake 
them,  "  you  mustn't  laugh  at  the  little  diap  xVA^i  yoii^s^tp^ 
him  with  the  plaid  taken  off.  The  fact- ils^  -Ltodk  hiir/  to'  a' 
shop  in  the  neighborhood  to  get  some  clothes  for  him,  but  I 
couldn't  get  anything  small  enough.  He  does  look  ridiculous  ; 
but  you  mustn't  laugh  at  him,  for  he  is  like  a  girl  for  sensi- 
tiveness. But  when  he  has  been  fed  up  a  bit,  and  got  some 
Highland  air  into  his  lungs,  his  own  mother  won't  know  him. 
And  you  will  get  him  some  other  clothes,  Janet — some  kilts, 
maybe — when  his  legs  get  stronger." 

Whatever  Keith  Macleod  did  was  sure  to  be  right  in  his 
mother's  eyes,  and  she  only  said,  with  a  laugh, — 

"  Well,  Keith,  you  are  not  like  your  brothers.  When  they 
brought  me  home  presents,  it  was  pretty  things  ;  but  all  your 
curiosities,  wherever  you  go,  are  the  halt,  and  the  lame,  and 
the  blind  ;  so  that  people  laugh  at  you,  and  say  that  Castle 
Dare  is  becoming  the  hospital  of  Mull." 

"  Mother,  I  don't  care  what  the  people  say." 

"  And  indeed  I  know  that,"  she  answered. 

Their  waiting  had  allowed  Hamish  and  the  new  gillie  to 
overtake  them;  and  certainly  the  latter,  deprived  of  his 
plaid,  presented  a  sufficiently  ridiculous  appearance  in  the 
trousers  and  jacket  that  were  obviously  too  big  for  him.  But 
neither  Lady  Macleod  nor  Janet  laughed  at  all  when  they 
saw  this  starved  London  waif  before  them. 

"  Johnny,"  said  Macleod,  "  here  are  two  ladies  who  will 
be  very  kind  to  you,  so  you  needn't  be  afraid  to  live  here." 

But  Johnny  did  look  mortally  afraid,  and  instinctively 
once  more  took  hold  of  Macleod's  coat.  Then  he  seemed  to 
have  some  notion  of  his  duty.  He  drew  back  one  foot,  and 
made  a  sort  of  courtesy.  Probably  he  had  seen  girls  do  this, 
in  mock-heroic  fashion,  in  some  London  court. 

"  And  are  you  very  tired  "i  "  said  Janet  Macleod,  in  that 
soft  voice  of  hers  that  all  children  loved. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  child. 

"  Kott  bless  me  !  "  cried  Hamish,  "  I  did  not  know  that ! " 
— and  therewith  the  old  man  caught  up  Johnny  Wickes  as  if 
he  had  been  a  bit  of  ribbon,  and  flung  him  on  to  his  shoulder, 
and  marched  off  to  Castle  Dare. 

Then  the  three  Macleods  continued  on  their  way — 
through  the  damp-smelling  fir-wood ;  over  the  bridge  that 
spanned  the  brawling  brook ;  again  through  the  fir-wood  ; 
until  they  reached  the  open  space  surrounding  the  big  stone 
house.     They  stood  for  a  minute  there — high  over  the  great 


102  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

plain  of  the'sfea,  that  was  beautiful  with  a  thousand  tints  of 
lights,  Andjthfire  was  the  green  island  of  Ulva,  and  there 
the' darker  rocks  of  Colonsay,  and  farther  out,  amidst  the 
windy  vapor  and  sunlight,  Lunga,  and  Fladda,  and  the 
Dutchman's  Cap,  changing  in  their  hue  every  minute  as  the 
clouds  came  driving  over  the  sea. 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  "  I  have  not  tasted  fresh  air  since  I 
left.     I  am  not  sorry  to  get  back  to  Dare." 

"  And  I  don't  think  we  are  sorry  to  see  you  back,  Keith, ' 
his  cousin  said,  modestly. 

And  yet  the  manner  of  his  welcome  was  not  imposing 
they  are  not  very  good  at  grand  ceremonies  on  the  western 
shores  of  Mull.  It  is  true  that  Donald,  relieved  of  the  care 
of  Johnny  Wickes,  had  sped  by  a  short-cut  through  the  fir- 
wood,  and  was  now  standing  in  the  gravelled  space  outside 
the  house,  playing  the  "  Heights  of  Alma "  with  a  spirit 
worthy  of  all  the  MacCruimins  that  ever  lived.  But  as  for 
the  ceremony  of  welcome,  this  was  all  there  was  of  it :  When 
Keith  Macleod  went  up  to  the  hall  door,  he  found  a  small 
girl  of  five  or  six  standing  quite  by  herself  at  the  open  en- 
trance. This  was  Christina,  the  grand-daughter  of  Hamish, 
a  pretty  little  girl  with  wide  blue  eyes  and  yellow  hair. 

"  Halloo,  Christina,"  said  Macleod,  "  won't  you  let  me 
into  the  house  ?  " 

"  This  is  for  you,  Sir  Keith,"  said  she,  in  the  Gaelic,  and 
she  presented  him  with  a  beautiful  bunch  of  white  heather. 
Now  white  heather,  in  that  part  of  the  country,  is  known  to 
bring  great  good  fortune  to  the  possessor  of  it. 

"  And  it  is  a  good  omen,"  said  he,  lightly,  as  he  took  the 
child  up  and  kissed  her.  And  that  was  the  manner  of  his 
welcome  to  Castle  Dare. 


CHAPTER  Xni. 

AT   HOME. 


The  two  women-folk,  with  whom  he  was  most  nearly 
brought  into  contact,  were  quite  convinced  that  his  stay  in 
London  had  in  nowise  altered  the  buoyant  humor  and  brisk 
activity  of  Keith  Macleod.  Castle  Dare  awoke  into  a  new 
life  on  his  return.     He  was  all   about  and  over  the  place 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  103 

accompanied  by  the  faithful  Hamish  ;  and  he  had  a  friendly 
word  and  smile  for  every  one  he  met.  He  was  a  good  mas- 
ter :  perhaps  he  was  none  the  less  liked  because  it  was  pretty 
well  understood  that  he  meant  to  be  master.  His  good-na- 
ture had  nothing  of  weakness  in  it.  "  If  you  love  me,  I  love 
you,"  says  the  Gaelic  proverb  ;  "  otherwise  do  not  come  near 
mey  There  was  not  a  man  or  lad  about  the  place  who  would 
not  have  adventured  his  life  for  Macleod  ;  but  all  the  same 
they  were  well  aware  that  the  handsome  young  master,  who 
seemed  to  go  through  life  with  a  merry  laugh  on  his  face, 
was  not  one  to  be  trifled  with.  This  John  Fraser,  an  Aber- 
deen man,  discovered  on  the  second  night  after  Macleod's 
return  to  Castle  Dare. 

Macleod  had  the  salmon-fishing  on  this  part  of  the  coast, 
and  had  a  boat's  crew  of  four  men  engaged  in  the  work.  One 
of  these  having  fallen  sick,  Hamish  had  to  hire  a  new  hand, 
an  Aberdeenshire  man,  who  joined  the  crew  just  before  Mac- 
leod's departure  from  London.  This  Fraser  turned  out  to  be 
a  "  dour  "  man  ;  and  his  discontent  and  grumbling  seemed  to 
be  affecting  the  others,  so  that  the  domestic  peace  of  Dare 
was  threatened.  On  the  night  in  question  old  Hamish  came 
into  Macleod's  conjoint  library  and  gun-room. 

"  The  fishermen  hef  been  asking  me  again,  sir,"  observed 
Hamish,  with  his  cap  in  his  hand*  "  What  will  I  say  to 
them  ? " 

"  Oh,  about  the  wages  ?  "  Macleod  said,  turning  round. 

"  Ay,  sir." 

"  Well,  Hamish,  I  don't  object.  Tell  them  that  what  they 
say  is  right.  This  year  has  been  a  very  good  year ;  we  have 
made  some  money  ;  I  will  give  them  two  shillings  a  week 
more  if  they  like.  But  then,  look  here,  Hamish — if  they  have 
their  wages  raised  in  a  good  year,  they  must  have  them  low- 
ered in  a  bad  year.  They  cannot  expect  to  share  the  profit 
without  sharing  the  loss  too.  Do  you  understand  that, 
Hamish  ? " 

"  Yes,  Sir  Keith,  I  think  I  do." 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  put  it  into  good  Gaelic  for 
them  ? " 

"  Oh  ay." 

"  Then  tell  them  to  choose  for  themselves.  But  make  it 
clear." 

"  Ay,  Sir  Keith,"  said  Hamish.      "  And  if  it  was  not  for 

that man,  John  Fraser,  there  would  be  no  word  of  this 

thing.     And  there  is  another  thing  I  will  hef  to  speak  to  you 


I04 


MACLEOD  OF  JDAKI^. 


about,  Sir  Keith ;  and  it  is  John  Fraser,  too,  who  is  at  the 
bottom  of  this,  I  will  know  that  fine.  It  is  more  than  two  or 
three  times  that  you  will  warn  the  men  not  to  bathe  in  the 
bay  below  the  castle  ;  and  not  for  many  a  day  will  any  one 
do  that,  for  the  Cave  bay  it  is  not  more  as  half  a  mile  away. 
And  when  you  were  in  London,  Sir  Keith,  it  was  this  man 
John  Fraser  he  would  bathe  in  the  bay  below  the  castle  in 
the  morning,  and  he  got  one  or  two  of  the  others  to  join  him  ; 
and  when  I  bade  him  go  away,  he  will  say  that  the  sea  be- 
longs to  no  man.     And  this  morning,  too " 

"  This  morning ! "  Macleod  said,  jumping  to  his  feet. 
There  was  an  angry  flash  in  his  eyes. 

"  Ay,  sir,  this  very  morning  I  saw  two  of  them  myself — 
and  John  Fraser  he  was  one  of  them — and  I  went  down  and 
said  to  them,  'It  will  be  a  bad  day  for  you,'  says  I  to  them, 
*  if  Sir  Keith  will  find  you  in  this  bay.' " 

"  Are  they  down  at  the  quay  now  ? '"'  Macleod  said. 

"  Ay,  they  will  be  in  the  house  now." 

"  Come  along  with  me,  Hamish.  I  think  we  will  put  this 
right." 

He  lifted  his  cap  and  went  out  into  the  cool  night  air,  fol- 
lowed by  Hamish.  They  passed  through  the  dark  fir-wood 
until  they  came  in  sight  of  the  Atlantic  again,  which  was 
smooth  enough  to  show  the  troubled  reflection  of  the  bigger 
stars.  They  went  down  the  hillside  until  they  were  close  to 
the  shore,  and  then  they  followed  the  rough  path  to  the  quay. 
The  door  of  the  square  stone  building  was  open  ;  the  men 
were  seated  on  rude  stools  or  on  spare  coils  of  rope,  smok- 
ing.    Macleod  called  them  out,  and  they  came  to  the  door. 

"  Now  look  here,  boys,"  said  he,  "  you  know  I  will  not 
allow  any  man  to  bathe  in  the  bay  before  the  house.  I  told 
you  before  ;  I  tell  you  now  for  the  last  time.  They  that  want 
to  bathe  can  go  along  to  the  Cave  bay ;  and  the  end  of  it  is 
this — and  there  will  be  no  more  words  about  it — that  the  first 
man  I  catch  in  the  bay  before  the  house  I  will  take  a  horse- 
whip to  him,  and  he  will  have  as  good  a  run  as  ever  he  had 
in  his  life." 

With  that  he  was  turning  away,  when  he  heard  one  of  the 
men  mutter,  ^^  I  would  like  to  see  you  do  it  T^  He  wheeled 
round  instantly — and  if  some  of  his  London  friends  could 
have  seen  the  look  of  his  face  at  this  moment,  they  might 
have  altered  their  opinion  about  the  obliteration  of  certain 
qualities  from  the  temperament  of  the  Highlanders  of  our 
own  dav. 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


05 


"  Who  said  that  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

There  was  no  answer. 

"  Come  out  here,  you  four  men  !  "  he  said.  "  Stand  in  a 
line  ther^.  Now  let  the  man  who  said  that  step  out  and  face 
me.  I  will  show  him  who  is  to  be  master  here.  If  he  thinks 
he  can  master  me,  well ;  but  it  is  one  or  the  other  of  us  who 
will  be  master !  " 

There  was  not  a  sound  or  a  motion  ;  but  Macleod  sprang 
forward,  caught  the  man  Fraser  by  the  throat,  and  shook  him 
thrice — as  he  might  have  shaken  a  reed. 

"  You  scoundrel !  "  he  said.  "  You  coward  !  Are  you 
afraid  to  own  it  was  you  1  There  has  been  nothing  but  bad 
feeling  since  ever  you  brought  your  ugly  face  among  us— 
well,  we've  had  enough  of  you  !  " 

He  flung  him  back. 

"  Hamish,"  said  he,  "  you  will  pay  this  man  his  month's 
wages  to-night.  Pack  him  off  with  the  Gometra  men  in  the 
morning  ;  they  will  take  him  out  to  the  Pioneer.  And  look 
you  here,  sir,"  he  added,  turning  to  Fraser,  "  it  will  be  a  bad 
day  for  you  the  day  that  I  see  your  face  again  anywhere 
about  Castle  Dare." 

He  walked  off  and  up  to  the  house  again,  followed  by  the 
reluctant  Hamish.  Hamish  had  spoken  of  this  matter  only 
that  Macleod  should  give  the  men  a  renewed  warning ;  he 
had  no  notion  that  this  act  of  vengeance  would  be  the  result. 
And  where  were  they  to  get  a  man  to  put  in  Fraser's  place  ? 

It  was  about  an  hour  later  that  Hamish  again  came  into 
the  room. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  he,  "  but  the  men  are  out- 
side." 

"  I  cannot  see  them." 

"  They  are  ferry  sorry,  sir,  about  the  whole  matter,  and 
there  will  be  no  more  bathing  in  the  front  of  the  house,  and 
the  man  Fraser  they  hef  brought  him  up  to  say  he  is  ferry 
sorry  too." 

"  They  have  brought  him  up  ? " 

"  Ay,  sir,"  said  Hamish,  with  a  grave  smile.  "  It  was  for 
fighting  him  they  were  one  after  the  other  because  he  will 
make  a  bad  speech  to  you ;  and  he  could  not  fight  three  men 
one  after  the  other ;  and  so  they  hef  made  him  come  up  to 
say  he  is  ferry  sorry  too  ;  and  will  you  let  him  stay  on  to  the 
end  of  the  season  ?  " 

"No.  Tell  the  men  that  if  they  will  behave  themselves,  we 
can  go  on  as  we  did  before,  in  peace  and  friendliness ;  but  I 


jo6       *  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

mean  to  be  master  in  this  place.  And  I  will  not  have  a 
sulky  fellow  like  this  Fraser  stirring  up  quarrels.  He  must 
pack  and  be  off." 

"  It  will  not  be  easy  to  get  another  man,  Sir  Keith,"  old 
Hamish  ventured  to  say. 

"  Get  Sandy  over  from  the  Umpired 

"  But  surely  you  will  want  the  yacht,  sir,  when  Mr.  Ogil- 
vie  comes  to  Dare  .?  " 

"  I  tell  you  Hamish,  that  I  will  not  have  that  fellow  about 
the  place.  That  is  an  end  of  it.  Did  you  think  it  was  only 
a  threat  that  I  meant  ?  And  have  you  not  heard  the  old  say- 
ing that  *  one  does  not  apply  plaster  to  a  threat  ? '  You  will 
send  him  to  Gometra  in  the  morning  in  time  for  the  boat." 

And  so  the  sentence  of  banishment  was  confirmed ;  and 
Hamish  got  a  young  fellow  from  Ulva  to  take  the  place  of 
Fraser ;  and  from  that  time  to  the  end  of  the  fishing  season 
perfect  peace  and  harmony  prevailed  between  master  and 
men. 

But  if  Lady  Macleod  and  Janet  saw  no  change  whatever 
in  Macleod's  manner  after  his  return  from  the  South,  Ham- 
ish, who  was  more  alone  with  the  young  man,  did.  Why  this 
strange  indifference  to  the  very  occupations  that  used  to  be 
the  chief  interest  of  his  life  ?  He  would  not  go  out  after  the 
deer ;  the  velvet  would  be  on  their  horns  yet.  He  would  not 
go  out  after  the  grouse  :  what  was  the  use  of  disturbing  them 
before  Mr.  Ogilvie  came  up  ? 

"  I  am  in  no  hurry,"  he  said,  almost  petulantly.  "  Shall  I 
not  have  to  be  here  the  whole  winter  for  the  shooting  ?  ' — 
and  Hamish  was  amazed  to  hear  him  talk  of  the  winter  shoot- 
ing as  some  compulsory  duty,  whereas  in  these  parts  it  far 
exceeded  in  variety  and  interest  the  very  limited  low-ground 
shooting  of  the  autumn.  Until  young  Ogilvie  came  up,  Mac- 
cleod  never  had  a  gun  in  his  hand.  He  had  gone  fishing  two 
or  three  days  ;  but  had  generally  ended  by  surrendering  his 
rod  to  Hamish,  and  going  for  a  walk  up  the  glen,  alone.  The 
only  thing  he  seemed  to  care  about,  in  the  way  of  out  of 
door  occupation,  was  the  procuring  of  otter-skins  ;  and  every 
man  and  boy  in  his  service  was  ordered  to  keep  a  sharp 
lookout  on  that  stormy  coast  for  the  prince  of  fur-bearing 
animals.  Years  before  he  had  got  enough  skins  together  for 
a  jacket  for  his  cousin  Janet ;  and  that  garment  of  beautiful 
thick  black  fur — dyed  black, of  course — was  as  silken  and  rich 
as  when  it  was  made.  Why  should  he  forget  his  own  theory  of 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  107 

letting  all  animals  have  a  chance  in  urging  a  war  of  extermi- 
nation against  the  otter  ? 

This  preoccupation  of  mind,  of  which  Hamish  was  alone 
observant,  was  nearly  inflicting  a  cruel  injury  on  Hamish 
himself.  On  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  Ogilvie  was 
expected  to  arrive,  Hamish  went  in  to  his  master's  library. 
Macleod  had  been  reading  a  book,  but  he  had  pushed  it 
aside,  and  now  both  his  elbows  were  on  the  table,  and  he 
was  leaning  his  head  on  his  hands,  apparently  in  deep  medi- 
tation of  some  kind  or  other. 

"  Will  I  tek  the  bandage  off  Nell's  foot  now,  sir  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  if  you  like.  You  know  as  much  as  I  do  about 
it." 

"  Oh,  I  am  quite  sure,"  said  Hamish,  brightly,  "  that  she 
will  do  ferry  well  to-morrow.  I  will  tek  her  whatever  ;  and 
I  can  send  her  home  if  it  is  too  much  for  her." 

Macleod  took  up  his  book  again. 

"  Very  well,  Hamish.  But  you  have  plenty  to  do  about 
the  house.     Duncan  and  Sandy  can  go  with  us  to-morrow." 

The  old  man  started,  and  looked  at  his  master  for  a  sec- 
ond. Then  he  said,  "  Ferry  well,  sir,"  in  a  low  voice,  and 
left  the  room. 

But  for  the  hurt,  and  the  wounded,  and  the  sorrowful 
there  was  always  one  refuge  of  consolation  in  Castle  Dare, 
Hamish  went  straight  to  Janet  Macleod  ;  and  she  was  aston- 
ished to  see  the  emotion  of  which  the  keen,  hard,  handsome 
face  of  the  old  man  was  capable.  Who  before  had  ever  seen 
tears  in  the  eyes  of  Hamish  Maclntyre  .? 

"  And  perhaps  it  is  so,"  said  Hamish,  with  his  head  hang- 
ing down,  "  and  perhaps  it  is  that  I  am  an  old  man  now,  and 
not  able  any  more  to  go  up  to  the  hills ;  but  if  I  am  not  able 
'or  that,  I  am  not  able  for  anything  ;  and  I  will  not  ask  Sir 
fCeith  to  keep  me  about  the  house,  or  about  the  yacht.  It  is 
younger  men  will  do  better  as  me  ;  and  I  can  go  away  to 
Greenock ;  and  if  it  is  an  old  man  I  am,  maybe  I  will  find  a 
place  in  a  smack,  for  all  that " 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  Hamish  ! "  Janet  Macleod  said,  with  her 
kindly  eyes  bent  on  him.  "  You  may  be  sure  Sir  Keith  did 
not  mean  anything  like  that " 

"  Ay,  mem,"  said  the  old  man,  proudly,  "  and  who  wass 
it  that  first  put  a  gun  into  his  hand  ?  and  who  wass  it  skinned 
the  ferry  first  seal  that  he  shot  in  Loch  Scridain  1  and  who 
wass  it  told  him  the  name  of  every  spar  and  sheet  of  the  Um- 
pire, and  showed  him  how  to  hold  a  tiller  ?      And  if  there  is 


I08  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

any  man  knows  more  as  me  about  the  birds  and  the  deer, 
that  is  right — let  him  go  out ;  but  it  is  the  first  day  I  hef  not 
been  out  with  Sir  Keith  since  ever  I  wass  at  Castle  Dare  ; 
and  now  it  is  time  that  I  am  going  away  ;  for  I  am  an  old 
man  ;  and  the  younger  men  they  will  be  better  on  the  hills, 
and  in  the  yacht  too.     But  I  can  make  my  living  whatever." 

"  Hamish,  you  are  speaking  like  a  foolish  man,"  said 
Janet  Macleod  to  him.  "  You  will  wait  here  now  till  I  go  to 
Sir  Keith." 

She  went  to  him. 

"  Keith,"  said  she,  "  do  you  know  that  you  have  nearly 
broken  old  Hamish's  heart  1 " 

"  What  is  the  matter  1 "  said  he,  looking  up  in  wonder. 

"  He  says  you  have  told  him  he  is  not  to  go  out  to  the 
shooting  with  you  to-morrow  ;  and  that  is  the  first  time  he  has 
been  superseded  ;  and  he  takes  it  that  you  think  he  is  an  old 
man ;  and  he  talks  of  going  away  to  Greenock  to  join  a 
smack." 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !  "  Macleod  said.  "  I  was  not  thinking 
when  I  told  him.  He  may  come  with  us  if  he  likes.  At  the 
same  time,  Janet,  I  should  think  Norman  Ogilvie  will  laugh 
at  seeing  the  butler  come  out  as  a  keeper." 

"You  know  quite  well,  Keith,"  said  his  cousin,  "  that 
Hamish  is  no  more  a  butler  than  he  is  captain  of  the  Umpire 
or  clerk  of  the  accounts.  Hamish  is  simply  everybody  and 
everything  at  Castle  Dare.  And  if  you  speak  of  Norman 
Ogilvie — well,  I  think  it  would  be  more  like  yourself,  Keith, 
to  consult  the  feelings  of  an  old  man  rather  than  the  opinions 
of  a  young  one." 

"  You  are  always  on  the  right  side,  Janet.  Tell  Hamish 
I  am  very  sorry.  I  meant  him  no  disrespect.  And  he  may 
call  me  at  one  in  the  morning  if  he  likes.  He  never  looked 
on  me  but  as  a  bit  of  his  various  machinery  for  killing  things." 

"  That  is  not  fair  of  you,  Keith.  Old  Hamish  would  give 
his  right  hand  to  save  you  the  scratch  of  a  thorn." 

She  went  off  to  cheer  the  old  man,  and  he  turned  to  his 
book.  But  it  was  not  to  read  it ;  it  was  only  to  stare  at  the 
outside  of  it  in  an  absent  sort  of  way.  The  fact  is,  he  had 
found  in  it  the  story  of  a  young  aid-de-camp  who  was  intrusted 
with  a  message  to  a  distant  part  of  the  field  while  a  battle 
was  going  forward,  and  who  in  mere  bravado  rode  across  a 
part  of  the  ground  open  to  the  enemy's  fire.  He  came  back 
laughing.  He  had  been  hit,  he  confessed,  but  he  had  es- 
caped ;  and  he  carelessly  shook  a  drop  or  two  of  blood  from 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  1 09 

a  flesh  wound  on  his  hand.  Suddenly,  however,  he  turned 
pale,  wavered  a  little,  and  then  fell  forward  on  his  horse's 
neck,  a  corpse. 

Mackod  was  thinking  about  this  story  rather  gloomily. 
But  at  last  he  got  up  with  a  more  cheerful  air,  and  seized  his 
cap. 

"  And  if  it  is  my  death-wound  I  have  got,"  he  was  think- 
ing to  himself,  as  he  set  out  for  the  boat  that  was  waiting  ior 
him  at  the  shore,  "  I  will  not  cry  out  too  soon." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  FRIEND. 


His  death-wound !  =  There  was  but  little  suggestion  ol 
any  death-wound  about  the  manner  or  speech  of  this  light- 
hearted  and  frank-spoken  fellow  who  now  welcomed  his  old 
friend  Ogilvie  ashore.  He  swung  the  gun-case  into  the  cart 
as  if  it  had  been  a  bit  of  thread.  He  himself  would  carry 
Ogilvie's  top-coat  over  his  arm. 

"  And  why  have  you  not  come  in  your  hunting  tartan  ? " 
said  he,  observing  the  very  precise  and  correct  shooting  cos- 
tume of  the  young  man. 

"  Not  likely,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvie,  laughing.  "  I  don't  like 
walking  through  clouds  with  bare  knees,  with  a  chance  of 
sitting  down  on  an  adder  or  two.  And  I'll  tell  you  what  it 
is,  Macleod  ;  if  the  morning  is  wet,  I  will  not  go  out  stalk- 
ing, if  all  the  stags  in  Christendom  were  there.  I  know  what 
it  is  ;  I  have  had  enough  of  it  in  my  younger  days." 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  Macleod  said,  seriously,  "  you  must 
not  talk  here  as  if  you  could  do  what  you  liked.  It  is  not 
what  you  wish  to  do,  or  what  you  don't  wish  to  do  ;  it  is  what 
Hamish  orders  to  have  done.  Do  you  think  I  would  dare  to 
tell  Hamish  what  we  must  do  to-morrow  ?  " 

**  Very  well,  then,  I  will  see  Hamish  myself ;  I  dare  say 
he  remembers  me." 

And  he  did  see  Hamish  that  evening,  and  it  was  arranged 
between  them  that  if  the  morning  looked  threatening,  they 


no  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

would  leave  the  deer  alone,  and  would  merely  take  the  lower- 
lying  moors  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  Castle  Dare. 
Hamish  took  great  care  to  impress  on  the  young  man  that 
Macleod  had  not  yet  taken  a  gun  in  his  hand,  merely  that 
there  should  be  a  decent  bit  of  shooting  when  his  guest  arrived. 

"  And  he  will  say  to  me,  only  yesterday,"  observed  Ham- 
ish, confidentially — "  it  wass  yesterday  itself  he  wass  saying 
to  me,  *  Hamish,  when  Mr.  Ogilvie  comes  here,  it  will  be 
only  six  days  or  seven  days  he  will  be  able  to  stop,  and  you 
will  try  to  g<t\.  him  two  or  three  stags.  And,  Hamish  ' — this 
is  what  he  will  say  to  me — *  you  will  pay  no  heed  to  me,  for 
I  hef  plenty  of  the  shooting  whatever,  from  the  one  year's  end 
to  the  other  year's  end,  and  it  is  Mr.  Ogilvie  you  will  look 
after.'  And  you  do  not  mind  the  rain,  sir  ?  It  is  fine  warm 
clothes  you  have  got  on — fine  woollen  clothes  you  have,  and 
what  harm  will  a  shower  do  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  the  rain,  so  long  as  I  can  keep  mov- 
ing— that's  the  fact,  Hamish,"  replied  Mr.  Ogilvie  ;  "  but  I 
don't  like  lying  in  wet  heather  for  an  hour  at  a  stretch.  And 
I  don't  care  how  few  birds  there  are,  there  will  be  plenty  to 
keep  us  walking.    So  you  remember.me,  after  all,  Hamish  ?" 

"  Oh  ay,  sir,"  said  Hamish,  with  a  demure  twinkle  in  his 
eye.  "  I  mind  fine  the  time  you  will  fall  into  the  water  off 
the  rock  in  Loch  na  Keal." 

"  There,  now,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Ogilvie.  "  That  is  precisely 
what  I  don't  see  the  fun  of  doing,  now  that  I  have  got  to 
man's  estate,  and  have  a  wholesome  fear  of  killing  myself. 
Do  you  think  I  would  lie  down  now  on  wet  sea-weed,  and  get 
slowly  soaked  through  with  the  rain  for  a  whole  hour,  on  the 
chance  of  a  seal  coming  on  the  other  side  of  the  rock  ?  Of 
course  when  I  tried  to  get  up  I  was  as  stiff  as  a  stone.  I 
could  not  have  lifted  the  rifle  if  a  hundred  seals  had  been 
there.  And  it  was  no  wonder  at  all  I  slipped  down  into  the 
water." 

"  But  the  sea-water,"  said  Hamish,  gravely ;  "  there  will 
no  harm  come  to  you  of  the  sea-water." 

"  I  want  to  have  as  little  as  possible  of  either  sea-water 
or  rain-water,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvie,  with  decision,  "  I  believe 
Macleod  is  half  an  otter  himself." 

Hamish  did  not  like  this,  but  he  only  said,  respectfully. 

"I  do  not  think  Sir  Keith  is  afraid  of  a  shower  of  rain 
whatever." 

These  gloomy  anticipations  were  surely  uncalled  for ;  for 
during  the  whole  of  the  past  week  the  Western  Isles  had 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  iil 

basked  in  uninterrupted  sunlight,  with  blue  skies  over  the 
fair  blue  seas,  and  a  resinous  warmth  exhaling  from  the 
lonely  moors.  But  all  -the  same,  next  morning  broke  as  if 
Mr.  Ogilvie's  forebodings  were  only  too  likely  to  be  realized. 
The  sea  was  leaden-hued  and  apparently  still,  though  the 
booming  of  the  Atlantic  swell  into  the  great  caverns  could 
be  heard ;  Staifa,  and  Lunga,  and  the  Dutchman  were  of  a 
dismal  black ;  the  brighter  colors  of  Ulva  and  Colonsay 
seemed  coldly  gray  and  green  ;  and  heavy  banks  of  cloud  lay 
along  the  land,  running  out  to  Ru-Treshanish.  The  noise  of 
the  stream  rushing  down  through  the  fir-wood  close  to  the 
castle  seemed  louder  than  usual,  as  if  rain  had  fallen  during 
the  night.  It  was  rather  cold,  too  :  all  that  Lady  Macleod 
and  Janet  could  say  failed  to  raise  the  spirits  of  their  guest. 

But  when  Macleod — dressed  in  his  homespun  tartan  of 
yellow  and  black — came  round  from  the  kennels  with  the 
dogs,  and  Hamish,  and  the  tall  red-headed  lad  Sandy,  it  ap- 
peared that  they  considered  this  to  be  rather  a  fine  day  than 
otherwise,  and  were  eager  to  be  off. 

"  Come  along,  Ogilvie."  Macleod  cried,  as  he  gave  his 
friend's  gun  to  Sandy,  but  shouldered  his  own.  "  Sorry  we 
haven't  a  dog-cart  to  drive  you  to  the  moor,  but  it  is  not  far 
off." 

"  I  think  a  cigar  in  the  library  would  be  the  best  thing 
for  a  morning  like  this,"  said  Ogilvie,  rather  gloomily,  as  he 
put  up  the  collar  of  his  shooting-jacket,  for  a  drop  or  two  of 
rain  had  fallen. 

"  Nonsense,  man  !  the  first  bird  you  kill  will  cheer  you 
up." 

Macleod  was  right ;  they  had  just  passed  through  the 
wood  of  young  larches  close  to  Castle  Dare,  and  were  ascend- 
ing a  rough  stone  road  that  led  by  the  side  of  a  deep  glen, 
when  a  sudden  whir  close  by  them  startled  the  silence  of  this 
gloomy  morning.  In  an  instant  Macleod  had  whipped  his 
gun  from  his  shoulder  and  thrust  it  into  Ogilvie's  hands.  By 
the  time  the  young  man  had  full-cocked  the  right  barrel  and 
taken  a  quick  aim,  the  bird  was  half  way  across  the  valley  ; 
but  all  the  same  he  fired.  For  another  second  the  bird  con- 
tinued its  flight,  but  in  a  slightly  irregular  fashion  ;  then 
down  it  went  like  a  stone  into  the  heather  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  chasm. 

"  Well  done,  sir ! "  cried  old  Hamish. 

"  Bravo  !  "  called  out  Macleod. 
.      "It  was  a  grand  long  shot !  "  said  Sandy,  as  he  unslipped 


112'  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

the  sagacious  old  retriever,  and  sent  her  down  into  the  glen. 

They  had  scarcely  spoken  when  another  dark  object, 
looking  to  the  startled  eye  as  if  it  were  the  size  of  a  house, 
sprang  from  the  heather  close  by,  and  went  off  like  an  arrow, 
uttering  a  succession  of  sharp  crowings.  Why  did  not  he 
.fire  ?  Then  they  saw  him  in  wild  despair  whip  down  the  gun, 
full-cock  the  left  barrel,  and  put  it  up  again.  The  bird  was 
just  disappearing  over  a  crest  of  rising  ground,  and  as  Ogil 
ive  fired  he  disappeared  altogether. 

"  He's  down,  sir  !  "  cried  Hamish,  in  great  excitement. 

*'  I  don't  think  so,"  Ogilvie  answered,  with  a  doubtful  a,r 
on  his  face,  but  with  a  bright  gladness  in  his  eyes  all  the 
same. 

"  He's  down,  sir,"  Hamish  reasserted.  "  Come  away 
Sandy,  with  the  dog  !  "  he  shouted  to  the  red-headed  lad,  who 
had  gone  down  into  the  glen  to  help  Nell  in  her  researches. 
By  this  time  they  saw  that  Sandy  was  recrossing  the  burn 
with  the  grouse  in  his  hand,  Nell  following  him  contentedly. 
They  whistled,  and  again  whistled  ;  but  Nell  considered  that 
her  task  had  been  accomplished,  and  alternately  looked  at 
them  and  up  at  her  immediate  master,  However,  the  tall 
lad,  probably  considering  that  the  whistling  was  meant  as  much 
for  him  as  for  the  retriever,  sprang  up  the  side  of  the  glen  in 
a  miraculous  fashion,  catching  here  and  there  by  a  bunch  of 
heather  or  the  stump  of  a  young  larch,  and  presently  he  had 
rejoined  the  party. 

"  Take  time,  sir,"  said  he.  "  Take  time.  Maybe  there 
is  more  of  them  about  here.  And  the  other  one,  I  marked 
him  down  from  the  other  side.     We  will  get  him  ferry  well." 

They  found  nothing,  however,  until  they  had  got  to  the 
other  side  of  the  hill,  where  Nell  speedily  made  herself  mis- 
tress of  the  other  bird — a  fine  young  cock  grouse,  plump 
and  in  splendid  plumage. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  the  morning  now,  Ogilvie  ? ' 
Macleod  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  it  will  clear,"  said  he,  shyly  ;  and  he  en- 
deavored to  make  light  of  Hamish's  assertions  that  they  were 
"  ferry  pretty  shots — ferry  good  shots  ;  and  it  was  always  a 
right  thing  to  put  cartridges  in  the  barrels  at  the  door  of  a 
house,  for  no  one  could  tell  what  might  be  close  to  the  house  ; 
and  he  was  sure  that  Mr.  Ogilvie  had  not  forgotten  the  use 
of  a  gun  since  he  went  away  from  the  hills  to  live  in  Eng- 
land." 

"  But  look  here,  Macleod,"  Mr.  Ogilvie  said ;  "  why  did 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  113 

not  you  fire  yourself  ?  " — he  was  very  properly  surprised ;  for 
the  most  generous  and  self-denying  of  men  are  apt  to  claim 
their  rights  when  a  grouse  gets  up  to  their  side. 

"  Oh,"  said  Macleod  simply,  "  I  wanted  you  to  have  a 
shot." 

And  indeed  all  through  the  day  he  was  obviously  far  more 
concerned  about  Ogilvie's  shooting  than  his  own.  He  took 
all  the  hardest  work  on  himself — taking  the  outside  beat,  for 
example,  if  there  was  a  bit  of  unpromising  ground  to  be  got 
over.  When  one  or  other  of  the  dogs  suddenly  showed  by 
its  uplifted  fore-paw,  its  rigid  tail,  and  its  slow,  cautious,  timid 
look  round  for  help  and  encouragement,  that  there  was  some- 
thing ahead  of  more  importance  than  a  lark,  Macleod  would 
run  all  the  risks  of  waiting  to  give  Ogilvie  time  to  come  up. 
If  a  hare  ran  across  with  any  chanc«  of  coming  within  shot 
of  Ogilvie,  Macleod  let  her  go  by  unscathed.  And  the  young 
gentleman  from  the  South  knew  enough  about  shooting  to 
understand  how  he  was  being  favored  both  by  his  host  and 
— ^what  was  a  more  unlikely  thing — by  Hamish. 

He  was  shooting  very  well,  too  ;  and  his  spirits  rose  and 
rose  until  the  lowering  day  was  forgotten  altogether. 

"  We  are  in  for  a  soaker  this  time  !  "  lie  cried,  quite  cheer- 
fully, looking  around  at  one  moment. 

All  this  lonely  world  of  olive  greens  and  browns  had 
grown  strangely  dark.  Even  the  hum  of  flies — the  only  sound 
audible  in  these  high  solitudes  away  from  the  sea — seemed 
stilled ;  and  a  cold  wind  began  to  blow  over  from  Ben-an- 
Sloich.  The  plain  of  the  valley  in  front  of  them  began  to 
fade  from  view ;  then  they  found  themselves  enveloped  in  a 
clammy  fog,  that  settled  on  their  clothes  and  hung  about 
their  eyelids  and  beard,  while  water  began  to  run  down  the 
barrels  of  their  guns.  The  wind  blew  harder  and  harder  : 
presently  they  seemed  to  spring  out  of  the  darkness ;  and, 
turning,  'they  found  that  the  cloud  had  swept  onward  toward 
th{i  sea,  leaving  the  rocks  on  the  nearest  hill-side  all  glitter- 
ing wet  in  the  brief  burst  of  sunlight.  It  was  but  a  glimmer. 
Heavier  clouds  came  sweeping  over  ;  downright  rain  began 
to  pour.  But  Ogilvie  kept  manfully  to  his  work.  He  climbed 
over  the  stone  walls,  gripping  on  with  his  wet  hands.  He 
splashed  through  the  boggy  land,  paying  no  attention  to  his 
footsteps.  And  at  last  he  got  to  following  Macleod's  plan  of 
crossing  a  burn,  which  was  merely  to  wade  through  the  foam- 
ing brown  water  instead  of  looking  out  for  big  stones.  By 
this  time  the  letters  in  his  breast  pocket  were  a  mass  of  pulp 


114  -^-^  CLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"  Look  here,  Macleod,"  said  he,  with  the  rain  running 
down  his  face,  "  I  can't  tell  the  difference  between  one  bird 
and  another,     If  I  shoot  a  partridge  it  isn't  my  fault." 

"  All  right,"  said  Macleod.  "  If  a  partridge  is  fool  enough, 
to  be  up  here,  it  deserves  it."  I 

Just  at  this  moment  Mr.  Ogilvie  suddenly  threw  up  his 
hands  and  his  gun,  as  if  to  protect  his  face.  An  extraordi- 
nary object — a  winged  object,  apparently  without  a  tail,  a 
whirring  bunch  of  loose  gray  feathers,  a  creature  resembling 
no  known  fowl — had  been  put  up  by  one  of  the  dogs,  and  \\ 
had  flown  direct  at  Ogilvie's  head.  It  passed  him  at  about 
half  a  yard's  distance. 

"  What  in  all  the  world  is  that  ?  "  he  cried,  jumping  round 
to  have  a  look  at  it. 

"  Why,"  said  Macleod,  who  was  roaring  with  laughter, 
"  it  is  a  baby  blackcock,  just  out  of  the  shell,  I  should  think," 

A  sudden  noise  behind  him  caused  him  to  wheel  round, 
and  instinctively  he  put  up  his  gun.    He  took  it  down  again. 

"  That  is  the  old  hen,"  said  he  ;  "  we'll  leave  her  to  look 
after  her  chicks.  Hamish,  get  in  the  dogs,  or  they'll  be  for 
eating  some  of  those  young  ones.  And  you,  Sandy,  where 
was  it  you  left  the  basket  ?  We  will  go  for  our  splendid  ban- 
quet now,  Ogilvie." 

That  was  an  odd-looking  party  that  by  and  by  might  have 
been  seen  crouching  under  the  lee  of  a  stone  wall  with  a  small 
brook  running  by  their  feet.  They  had  taken  down  wet  stones 
for  seats  ;  and  these  were  somewhat  insecurely  fixed  on  the 
steep  bank.  But  neither  the  rain,  nor  the  gloom,  nor  the 
loneliness  of  the  silent  moors  seemed  to  have  damped  their 
spirits  much. 

"  It  really  is  awfully  kind  of  you,  Ogilvie,"  Macleod  said, 
as  he  threw  half  a  sandwich  to  the  old  black  retriever,  "  to 
take  pity  on  a  solitary  fellow  like  myself.  You  can't  tell  how 
glad  I  was  to  see  you  on  the  bridge  of  the  steamer.  And 
now  that  you  have  taken  all  the  trouble  to  come  to  this  place, 
and  have  taken  your  chance  of  our  poor  shooting,  this  is  the 
sort  of  day  you  get !  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvie,  who  did  not  refuse  to 
have  his  tumbler  replenished  by  the  attentive  Hamish,  "  it  is 
quite  the  other  way.  I  consider  myself  precious  lucky.  I 
consider  the  shooting  firstrate  ;  and  it  isn't  every  fellow 
would  deliberately  hand  the  whole  thing  over  to  his  friend,  as 
you  have  been  doing  all  day.  And  I  suppose  bad  weather 
is  as  bad  elsewhere  as  it  is  here." 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  nc; 

Macleod  was  carelessly  filling  his  pipe,  and  obviously 
thinking  of  something  very  different. 

"  Man,  Ogilvie,"  he  said,  in  a  burst  of  confidence,  "  I 
never  knew  before  how  fearfully  lonely  a  life  we  lead  here. 
If  we  were  out  on  one  of  the  Treshanish  Islands,  with  noth- 
ing round  us  but  skarts  and  gulls,  we  could  scarcely  be  lone- 
lier. And  I  have  been  thinking  all  the  morning  what  this 
must  look  like  to  you." 

He  glanced  round — at  the  sombre  browns  and  greens  of 
the  solitary  moorland,  at  the  black  rocks  jutting  out  here  and 
there  from  the  scant  grass,  at  the  silent  and  gloomy  hills  and 
the  overhanging  clouds. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  the  beautiful  places  we  saw  in 
London,  and  the  crowds  of  people,  the  constant  change,  and 
amusement,  and  life.  And  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  packed 
up  your  traps  to-morrow  morning  and  fled." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  observed  Mr.  Ogilvie,  confidently, 
"  you  are  giving  me  credit  for  a  vast  amount  of  sentiment.  I 
haven't  got  it.  I  don't  know  what  it  is.  But  I  know  when  I 
am  jolly  well  off.  I  know  when  I  am  in  good  quarters,  with 
good  shooting,  and  with  a  good  sort  of  chap  to  go  about 
with.  As  for  London — bah  !  I  rather  think  you  got  your 
eyes  dazzled  for  a  minute,  Macleod.  You  weren't  long 
enough  there  to  find  it  out.  And  wouldn't  you  get  precious 
tired  of  big  dinners,  and  garden-parties,  and  all  that  stuff, 
after  a  time  ?  Macleod,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  ever 
saw  anything  at  Lady  Beauregard's  as  fine  as  that?'' 

And  he  pointed  to  a  goodly  show  of  birds,  with  a  hare  or 
two,  that  Sandy  had  taken  out  of  the  bag,  so  as  to  count 
them. 

"  Of  course,"  said  this  wise  young  man,  "  there  is  one 
case  in  which  that  London  life  is  all  very  well.  If  a  man  is 
awful  spoons  on  a  girl,  then,  of  course,  he  can  trot  after  her 
from  house  to  house,  and  walk  his  feet  off  in  the  Park.  I  re- 
member a  fellow  saying  a  very  clever  thing  about  the  reasons 
that  took  a  man  into  society.  What  was  it,  now  .^  Let  me 
see.     It  was  either  to  look  out  for  a  wife,  or — or " 

Mr.  Ogilvie  was  trying  to  recollect  the  epigram  and  to 
light  a  wax  match  at  the  same  time,  and  he  failed  in  both. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  won't  spoil  it ;  but  don't  you  believe 
that  any  one  you  met  in  London  wouldn't  be  precious  glad  to 
change  places  with  us  at  this  moment  .'*  " 

Any  one  ?  What  was  the  situation  ?  Pouring  rain,  leaden 
skies,  the  gloomy  solitude  of  the  high  moors,  the  sound  of 


Ii6  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

roaring  waters.  And  here  they  were  crouching  under  a  stone 
wall,  with  their  dripping  fingers  lighting  match  after  match 
for  their  damp  pipes,  with  not  a  few  midges  in  the  moist  and 
clammy  air,  and  with  a  faint  halo  of  steam  plainly  arising 
from  the  leather  of  their  boots.  When  Fionaghal  the  Fair 
Stranger  came  from  over  the  blue  seas  to  her  new  home,  was 
this  the  picture  of  Highland  life  that  was  presented  to  her  X 

**  Lady  Beauregard,  for  example  ?  "  said  Macleod. 

*'  Oh,  I  am  not  talking  about  women,"  observed  the  sa- 
gacious boy ;  "  I  never  could  make  out  a  woman's  notions 
about  any  thing.  I  dare  say  they  like  London  life  well 
enough,  for  they  can  show  off  their  shoulders  and  their  dia- 
monds." 

"  Ogilvie,"  Macleod  said,  with  a  sudden  earnestness,  "  I 
am  fretting  my  heart  out  here — that  is  the  fact.  If  it  were 
not  for  the  poor  old  mother — and  Janet — but  I  will  tell  you 
another  time." 

He  got  up  on  his  feet,  and  took  his  gun  from  Sandy. 
His  companion — wondering  not  a  little,  but  saying  nothing — 
did  likewise.  Was  this  the  man  who  had  always  seemed 
rather  proud  of  his  hard  life  on  the  hills  ?  who  had  regarded 
the  idleness  and  effeminacy  of  town  life  with  something  of  an 
unexpressed  scorn  1  A  young  fellow  in  robust  health  and 
splendid  spirits — an  eager  sportsman  and  an  acurate  shot — 
out  for  his  first  shooting-day  of  the  year :  was  it  intelligible 
that  he  should  be  visited  by  vague  sentimental  regrets  for 
London  drawing-rooms  and  vapid  talk  ?  The  getting  up  of  a 
snipe  interrupted  these  speculations;  Ogilvie  blazed  away, 
missing  with  both  barrels  ;  Macleod,  who  had  been  patiently 
waiting  to  see  the  effect  of  the  shots,  then  put  up  his  gun, 
and  presently  the  bird  came  tumbling  down,  some  fifty  yards 
off. 

"  You  haven't  warmed  to  it  yet,"  Macleod  said,  charitably. 
"The  first  half  hour  after  luncheon  a  man  always  shoots 
badly." 

"  Especially  when  his  clothes  are  glued  to  his  skin  from 
head  to  foot,"  said  Ogilvie. 

"  You  will  soon  walk  some  heat  into  yourself." 

And  again  they  went  on,  Macleod  pursuing  the  same  tac- 
tics, so  that  his  companion  had  the  cream  of  the  shooting. 
Despite  the  continued  soaking  rain,  Ogilvie's  spirits  seemed 
to  become  more  and  more  buoyant.  He  was  shooting  cap- 
itally ;  one  very  long  shot  he  made,  bringing  down  an  old 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


117 


blackcock  with  a  thump  on  the  heather,  causing  Hamish  to 
exclaim, — 

"  Well  done,  sir  !  It  is  a  glass  of  whiskey  you  will  deserve 
for  that  shot." 

Whereupon  Mr.  Ogilvie  stopped  and  modestly  hinted 
that  he  would  accept  of  at  least  a  moiety  of  the  proifered  re- 
ward. 

"  Do  you  know,  Hamish,"  said  he,  "  that  it  is  the  greatest 
comfort  in  the  world  to  get  wet  right  through,  for.  you  know 
you  can't  be  worse,  and  it  gives  you  no  trouble." 

"  And  a  whole  glass  will  do  you  no  harm,  sir,"  shrewdly 
observed  Hamish. 

"  Not  in  the  clouds.'' 

"  The  what,  sir  ?  " 

"  The  clouds.  Don't  you  consider  we  are  going  shooting 
through  clouds  ? " 

"  There  will  be  a  snipe  or  two  down  here,  sir,"  said 
Hamish,  moving  on  ;  for  he  could  not  understand  conun- 
drums, especially  conundrums  in  English. 

The  day  remained  of  this  moist  character  to  the  end  ;  but 
they  had  plenty  of  sport,  and  they  had  a  heavy  bag  on  their 
return  to  Castle  Dare.  Macleod  was  rather  silent  on  the  way 
home.  Ogilvie  was  still  at  a  loss  to  know  why  his  friend 
should  have  taken  this  sudden  dislike  to  living  in  a  place  he 
had  lived  in  all  his  life.  Nor  could  he  understand  why  Mac- 
leod should  have  deliberately  surrendered  to  him  the  chance 
of  bagging  the  brace  of  grouse  that  got  up  by  the  side  of 
the  road.  It  was  scarcely,  he  considered,  within  the  possi- 
bilities of  human  nature. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A   CONFESSION. 


And  once  again  the  big  dining-hall  of  Castle  Dare  was 
ablaze  with  candles  ;  and  Janet  was  there,  gravely  listening 
to  the  garrulous  talk  of  the  boy-officer ;  and  Keith  Macleod, 
in  his  dress  tartan  ;  and  the  noble-looking  old  lady  at  the 
head  of  the  table,  who  more  than  once  expressed  to  her 
guest,  in  that  sweetly  modulated  and  gracious  voice  of  hers, 


H8  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

how  sorry  she  was  he  had  encountered  so  bad  a  day  for  the 
first  day  of  his  visit. 

"  It  is  different  with  Keith,'*  said  she,  "  for  he  is  used  to 
be  out  in  all  weathers.  He  has  been  brought  up  to  live  out 
of  doors. 

"  But  you  know,  auntie,"  said  Janet  Macleod,  "a  soldier 
is  much  of  the  same  thing.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  soldier 
with  an  umbrella  t " 

"All  I  know  is,"  remarked  Mr.  Ogilvie — who,  in  his 
smart  evening  dress,  and  with  his  face  flushed  into  a  rosy 
wannth  after  the  cold  and  the  wet,  did  not  look  particularly 
miserable — "  that  I  don't  remember  ever  enjoying  myself 
so  much  in  one  day.  But  the  fact  is,  Lady  Macleod,  your 
son  gave  me  all  the  shooting ;  and  Hamish  was  sounding  my 
praises  all  day  long,  so  that  I  almost  got  to  think  I  could 
shoot  the  birds  without  putting  up  the  gun  at  all ;  and  when 
I  made  a  frightfu.  bad  miss,  everybody  declared  the  bird  was 
dead  round  the  other  side  of  the  hill." 

"  And  indeed  you  were  not  making  many  misses,"  Mac- 
leod said.  "  But  we  will  try  your  nerve,  Ogilvie,  with  a  stag 
or  two,  I  hope." 

"  I  am  on  for  anything.  What  with  Hamish's  flattery 
and  the  luck  I  had  to-day,  I  begin  to  believe  I  could  bag  a 
brace  of  tigers  if  they  were  coming  at  me  fifty  miles  an  hour." 

Dinner  over,  and  Donald  having  played  his  best  (no  doubt 
he  had  learned  that  the  stranger  was  an  officer  in  the  Ninety- 
third),  the  ladies  left  the  dining-hall,  and  presently  Macleod 
proposed  to  his  friend  that  they  should  go  into  the  library 
and  have  a  smoke.  Ogilvie  was  nothing  loath.  They  went 
into  the  odd  little  room,  with  its  guns  and  rods  and  stuffed 
birds,  and,  lying  prominently  on  tne  writing-table,  a  valuable 
little  heap  of  dressed  otter-skins.  Although  the  night  was 
scarcely  cold  enough  to  demand  it,  there  was  a  log  of  wood 
burning  in  the  fireplace  ;  there  were  two  easy-chairs,  low  and 
roomy  ;  and  on  the  mantelpiece  were  some  glasses,  and  a  big 
black  broad-bottomed  bottle,  such  as  used  to  carry  the  still 
vintages  of  Champagne  even  into  the  remote  wilds  of  the 
Highlands,  before  the  art  of  making  sparkling  wines  had 
been  discovered.  Mr.  Ogilvie  lit  a  cigar,  stretched  out  his 
feet  towards  the  blazing  log,  and  rubbed  his  hands,  which 
were  not  as  white  as  usual. 

"  You  are  a  lucky  fellow,  Macleod,"  said  he,  "  and  you 
don't  know  it.  You  have  everything  about  you  here  to  make 
life  enjo}^ble." 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  uq 

"  And  I  feel  like  a  slave  tied  to  a  galley  oar,"  said  he, 
quickly.  "  I  try  to  hide  it  from  the  mother — for  it  would 
break  her  heart — and  from  Janet  too ;  but  every  morning  I 
rise,  the  dismalness  of  being  alone  here — of  being  caged  up 
alone — eats  more  and  more  into  my  heart.  When  I  look  at 
you,  Ogilvie — to-morrow  morning  you  could  go  spinning  off 
to  any  quarter  you  liked,  to  see  any  one  you  wanted  to  see 


"  Macleod,"  said  his  companion,  looking  up,  and  yet 
speaking  rather  slowly  and  timidly,  "  if  I  were  to  say  what 
would  naturally  occur  to  any  one — you  won't  be  offended  ? 
What  you  have  been  telling  me  is  absurd,  unnatural,  impos- 
sible, unless  there  is  a  woman  in  the  case." 

*'  And  what  then  ?  "  Macleod  said,  quickly,  as  he  regarded 
his  friend  with  a  watchful  eye,     "  You  have  guessed  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other  :  "  Gertrude  White." 

Macleod  was  silent  for  a  second  or  two.  Then  he  sat 
down. 

"  I  scarcely  care  who  knows  it  now,"  said  he,  absently 
**  so  long  as  I  can't  fight  it  out  of  my  own  mind.  I  tried  not 
to  know  it.  I  tried  not  to  believe  it.  I  argued  with  myself, 
laughed  at  myself,  invented  a  hundred  explanations  of  this 
cruel  thing  that  was  gnawing  at  my  heart  and  giving  me  no 
peace  night  or  day.  Why,  man,  Ogilvie,  I  have  read  '  Pen- 
dennis  !  *  Would  you  think  it  possible  that  any  one  who  has 
read  '  Pendennis  '  could  ever  fall  in  love  with  an  actress  ?  " 

He  jumped  to  his  feet  again,  walked  up  and  down  for  a 
second  or  two,  twisting  the  while  a  bit  of  casting-line  round 
his  finger  so  that  it  threatened  to  cut  into  the  flesh. 

"  But  I  will  tell  you  now,  Ogilvie — now  that  I  am  speak- 
ing to  any  one  about  it,"  said  he — and  he  spoke  in  a  rapid, 
deep,  earnest  voice,  obviously  not  caring  much  what  his 
companion  might  think,  so  that  he  could  relieve  his  overbur- 
dened mind — "  that  it  was  not  any  actress  I  fell  in  love  with. 
I  never  saw  her  in  a  theatre  but  that  once.  I  hated  the 
theatre  whenever  I  thought  of  her  in  it.  I  dared  scarcely 
open  a  newspaper,  lest  I  should  see  her  name.  I  turned 
away  from  the  posters  in  the  streets  :  when  I  happened  by 
some  accident  to  see  her  publicly  paraded  that  way,  I  shud- 
dered all  through — with  shame,  I  think  ;  and  I  got  to  look 
on  her  father  as  a  sort  of  devil  that  had  been  allowed  to 
drive  about  that  beautiful  creature  in  vile  chains.  Oh,  I  can- 
not tell  you  !  When  I  have  heard  him  talking  away  in  that 
infernal,  cold,  precise  way  about  her  duties  to  her  art,  and 


I20  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

insisting  that  she  should  have  no  sentiments  or  feelings  oi 
her  own,  and  that  she  should  simply  use  every  emotion  as  a 
bit  of  something  to  impose  on  the  public — a  bit  of  her  trade, 
an  exposure  of  her  own  feelings  to  make  people  clap  their 
hands — I  have  sat  still  and  wondered  at  myself  that  I  did 
not  jump  up  and  catch  him  by  the  throat,  and  shake  the  life 
out  of  his  miserable  body." 

"You  have  cut  your  hand,  Macleod." 

He  shook  a  drop  or  two  of  blood  off. 

"  Why,  Ogilvie,  when  I  saw  you  on  the  bridge  of  the 
steamer,  I  nearly  went  mad  with  delight.  I  said  to  myself, 
*  Here  is  some  one  who  has  seen  her  and  spoken  to  her,  who 
will  know  when  I  tell  him.'  And  now  that  I  am  telling 
you  of  it,  Ogilvie,  you  will  see — ^you  will  understand — that  it 
is  not  any  actress  I  have  fallen  in  love  with — it  was  not  the 
fascination  of  an  actress  at  all,  but  the  fascination  of  the 
woman  herself  ;  the  fascination  of  her  voice,  and  her  sweet 
ways,  and  the  very  way  she  walked,  too,  and  the  tenderness 
of  her  heart.  There  was  a  sort  of  wonder  about  her  ;  what- 
ever she  did  or  said  was  so  beautiful,  and  simple,  and  sweet ! 
And  day  after  day  I  said  to  myself  that  my  interest  in  this 
beautiful  woman  was  nothing.  Some  one  told  me  there  had 
been  rumors :  I  laughed.  Could  any  one  suppose  I  was  go- 
ing to  play  Pendennis  over  again  ?  And  then  as  the  time 
came  for  me  to  leave,  I  was  glad,  and  I  was  miserable  at  the 
same  time.  I  despised  myself  for  being  miserable.  And 
then  I  said  to  myself,  '  This  stupid  misery  is  only  the  fancy 
of  a  boy.  Wait  till  you  get  back  to  Castle  Dare,  and  the 
rough  seas,  and  the  hard  work  of  the  stalking.  There  is  no 
sickness  and  sentiment  on  the  side  of  Ben-an-Sloich.'  And 
so  I  was  glad  to  come  to  Castle  Dare,  and  to  see  the  old 
mother,  and  Janet,  and  Hamish  ;  and  the  sound  of  the  pipes, 
Ogilvie — when  I  heard  them  away  in  the  steamer,  that 
brought  tears  to  my  eyes  ;  and  I  said  to  myself,  *  Now  you 
are  at  home  again,  and  there  will  be  no  more  nonsense  of 
idle  thinking.'  And  what  has  it  come  to  t  I  would  give 
everything  I  possess  in  the  world  to  see  her  face  once  more 
— ay,  to  be  in  the  same  town  where  she  is.  I  read  the 
papers,  trying  to  find  out  where  she  is.  Morning  and  night 
it  is  the  same — a  fire,  burning  and  burning,  of  impatience, 
and  misery,  and  a  craving  just  to  see  her  face  and  hear  her 
speak." 

Ogilvie  did  not  know  what  to  say.  There  was  something 
jin  this  passionate  confession — in  the  cry  ^vrung  from  a  strong 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  12 1 

man,  and  in  the  rude  eloquence  that  here  and  there  bunit 
from  him — that  altogether  drove  ordinary  words  of  counsel 
or  consolation  out  of  the  young  man's  mind. 

"  You  have  been  hard  hit,  Macleod,"  he  said,  with  some 
earnestness. 

"  That  is  just  it,"  Macleod  said,  almost  bitterly.  "  You 
fire  at  a  bird.  You  think  you  have  missed  him.  He  sails 
away  as  if  there  was  nothing  the  matter,  and  the  rest  of  the 
covey  no  doubt  think  he  is  as  well  as  any  one  of  them.  But 
suddenly  you  see  there  is  something  wrong.  He  gets  apart 
from  the  others  ;  he  towers  ;  then  down  he  comes,  as  dead 
as  a  stone.    You  did  not  guess  anything  of  this  in  London  ?  " 

"Well,"'  said  Ogilvie,  rather  inclined  to  b'eat  about  the 
bush,  "  I  thought  you  were  paying  her  a  good  deal  of  atten- 
tion. But  then — she  is  very  popular,  you  know,  and  receives 
a  good  deal  of  attention  ;  and — and  the  fact  is,  she  is  an  un- 
commonly pretty  girl,  and  I  thought  you  were  flirting  a  bit 
with  her,  but  nothing  more  than  that.  I  had  no  idea  it  was 
something  more  serious  than  that." 

"  Ay,"  Macleod  said,  "  if  I  myself  had  only  known  !  If  it 
was  a  plunge — as  people  talk  about  falling  in  love  with  a 
woman — ^why,  the  next  morning  I  would  have  shaken  myself 
free  of  it,  as  a  Newfoundland  dog  shakes  himself  free 
of  the  water.  But  a  fever,  a  madness,  that  slowly  gains 
on  you — and  you  look  around  and  say  it  is  nothing,  but  day 
after  day  it  burns  more  and  more.  And  it  is  no  longer 
something  that  you  can  look  at  apart  from  yourself — it  is  your 
very  self ;  and  sometimes,  Ogilvie,  I  wonder  whether  it  is  all 
true,  or  whether  it  is  mad  I  am  altogether.  Newcastle — do 
you  know  Newcastle  ?  " 

"  I  have  passed  through  it,  of  course,"  his  companion 
said,  more  and  more  amazed  at  the  vehemence  of  his  speech. 

"  It  is  there  she  is  now — I  have  seen  it  in  the  papers  ; 
and  it  is  Newcastle — Newcastle — Newcastle — I  am  thinking 
of  from  morning  till  night,  and  if  I  could  only  see  one  of  the 
streets  of  it  I  should  be  glad.  They  say  it  is  smoky  antl 
grimy ;  I  should  be  breathing  sunlight  if  I  lived  in  the  most 
squalid  of  all  its  houses.  And  they  say  she  is  going  to  Liv- 
erpool, and  to  Manchester,  and  to  Leeds ;  and  it  is  as  if  my 
very  life  were  being  drawn  away  from  me.  I  try  to  think 
what  people  may  be  around  her  ;  I  try  to  imagine  what  she  is 
doing  at  a  particular  hour  of  the  day ;  and  I  feel  as  if  I  were 
shut  away  in  an  island  in  the  middle  of  the  Atlantic,  with 


122  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

nothing  but  the  sound  of  the  waves  around  my  ears.  Ogilvie, 
it  is  enough  to  drive  a  man  out  of  his  senses." 

"  But,  look  here,  Macleod,"  said  Ogilvie,  pulling  himself 
together  ;  for  it  was  hard  to  resist  the  influence  of  this  vehe- 
ment and  uncontrollable  passion — "  look  here,  man  ;  why 
don't  you  think  of  it  in  cold  blood  ?  Do  you  expect  me  to 
sympathize  with  you  as  a  friend  ?  Or  would  you  like  to  know 
what  any  ordinary  man  of  the  world  would  think  of  the  whole 
case  ?  " 

*'  Don't  give  me  your  advice,  Ogilvie,"  said  he,  untwining 
and  throwing  away  the  bit  of  casting-line  that  had  cut  his 
finger.  "  It  is  far  beyond  that.  Let  me  talk  to  you — that  is 
all.  I  should  have  gone  mad  in  another  week,  if  I  had  had 
no  one  to  speak  to  ;  and  as  it  is,  what  better  am  I  than  mad  ? 
It  is  not  anything  to  be  analyzed  and  cured  :  it  is  my  very 
self ;  and  what  have  I  become  ?  " 

"  But  look  here,  Macleod — I  want  to  ask  you  a  question : 
would  you  marry  her  ?  " 

The  common-sense  of  the  younger  man  was  re-asserting 
itself.  This  was  what  any  one — looking  at  the  whole  situa- 
ation  from  the  Aldershot  point  of  view — ^would  at  the  outset 
demand  ?  But  if  Macleod  had  known  all  that  was  implied 
in  the  question,  it  is  probable  that  a  friendship  that  had  ex- 
isted from  boyhood  would  then  and  there  have  been  severed. 
He  took  it  that  Ogilvie  was  merely  referring  to  the  thousand 
and  one  obstacles  that  lay  between  him  and  that  obvious  and 
natural  goal. 

*'  Marry  her ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Yes,  you  are  right  to 
look  at  it  in  that  way — to  think  of  what  it  will  all  lead  to. 
When  I  look  forward,  I  see  nothing  but  a  maze  of  impossi- 
billities  and  trouble.  One  might  as  well  have  fallen  in  love 
with  one  of  the  Roman  maidens  in  the  Temple  of  Vesta. 
She  is  a  white  slave.  She  is  a  sacrifice  to  the  monstrous 
theories  of  that  bloodless  old  pagan,  her  father.  And  then 
she  is  courted  and  flattered  on  all  sides  ;  she  lives  in  a  smoke 
of  incense  :  do  you  think,  even  supposing  that  all  other  diffi- 
culties were  removed — that  she  cared  for  no  one  else,  that 
she  were  to  care  for  me,  that  the  influence  of  her  father  was 
gone — do  you  think  she  would  surrender  all  the  admiration 
she  provokes  and  the  excitement  of  the  life  she  leads,  to 
come  and  live  in  a  dungeon  in  the  Highlands  ?  A  single 
day  like  to-day  would  kill  her,  she  is  so  fine  and  delicate — 
like  a  rose  leaf,  I  have  often  thought.  No,  no,  Ogilvie,  I 
have  thought  of  it  every  way.     It  is  like  a  riddle  that  you 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  123 

twist  and  twist  about  to  try  and  get  the  answer  ;  and  I  can 
get  no  answer  at  all,  unless  wishing  that  I  had  never  been 
born.     And  perhaps  that  would  have  been  better." 

"  You  take  too  gloomy  a  view  of  it,  Macleod,"  said  Ogil- 
vie.  "  For  one  thing,  look  at  the  common-sense  of  the  mat- 
ter. Suppose  that  she  is  very  ambitious  to  succeed  in  her 
profession,  that  is  all  very  well  ;  but,  mind  you,  it  is  a  very 
hard  life.  And  if  you  put  before  her  the  chance  of  being 
styled  Lady  Macleod — well,  I  may  be  wrong,  but  I  should 
say  that  would  count  for  something.  I  haven't  known  many 
actresses  myself — " 

"  That  is  idle  talk,"  Macleod  said  ;  and  then  he  added, 
proudly,  "  You  do  not  know  this  woman  as  I  know  her." 

He  put  aside  his  pipe  ;  but  in  truth  he  had  never  lit  it. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  with  a  tired  look,  "  I  have  bored  you 
enough.  You  won't  mind,  Ogilvie  ?  The  whole  of  the  day 
I  was  saying  to  myself  that  I  would  keep  all  this  thing  to  my- 
self, if  my  heart  burst  over  it ;  but  you  see  I  could  not  do  it, 
and  I  have  made  you  the  victim,  after  all.  And  we  will  go 
into  the  drawing-room  now ;  and  we  will  have  a  song.  And 
that  was  a  very  good  song  you  sang  one  night  in  London, 
Ogilvie — it  was  about  *  Death's  black  wine  ' — and  do  you 
think  you  could  sing  us  that  song  to-night  ?  " 

Ogilvie  looked  at  him. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  the  way  you  are  talk- 
ing, Macleod,"  said  he. 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  with  a  laugh  that  did  not  sound  quite 
natural,  "  have  you  forgotten  it  ?  Well,  then,  Janet  will  sing 
us  another  song — that  is,  *  Farewell,  Manchester.'  And  we 
will  go  to  bed  soon  to-night,  for  I  have  not  been  having  much 
sleep  lately.  But  it  is  a  good  song — it  is  a  song  you  do  not 
easily  forget — that  about  *  Death's  black  wine.' " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

REBELLION. 


And  where  was  she  now — that  strange  creature  who  had 
bewildered  and  blinded  his  eyes  and  so  sorely  stricken  his 
heart  ?     It  was,  perhaps,  not  the  least  part  of  his  trouble 


124  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

that  all  his  passionate  yearning  to  see  her,  and  all  his  tliink- 
ing  about  her  and  the  scenes  in  which  he  had  met  her, 
seemed  unable  to  conjure  up  any  satisfactory  vision  of  her. 
The  longing  of  his  heart  went  out  from  him  to  meet — a  phan- 
tom. She  appeared  before  him  in  a  hundred  shapes,  now 
one,  now  the  other ;  but  all  possessed  with  a  terrible  fascina- 
tion from  which  it  was  in  vain  for  him  to  try  to  flee. 

Which  was  she,  then  —  the  pale,  and  sensitive,  and 
thoughtful-eyed  girl  who  listened  with  such  intense  interest 
to  the  gloomy  tales  of  the  Northern  seas  ;  who  was  so  fine, 
and  perfect,  and  delicate  ;  who  wall^ed  so  gracefully  and 
smiled  so  sweetly ;  the  timid  and  gentle  companion  and 
friend  ? 

Or  the  wild  coquette,  with  her  arch,  shy  ways,  and  her 
serious  laughing,  and  her  befooling  of  the  poor  stupid  lover  ? 
He  could  hear  her  laugh  now ;  he  could  see  her  feed  her 
canary  from  her  own  lips.  Where  was  the  old  mother  whom 
that  madcap  girl  teased  and  petted  and  delighted  ? 

Or  was  not  this  she — the  calm  and  gracious  woman  who 
received  as  a  matter  of  right  the  multitude  of  attentions  that 
all  men — and  women  too — were  glad  to  pay  her  ?  The  air  fine 
about  her ;  the  south  winds  fanning  her  cheek ;  the  day  lon^, 
and  balmy,  and  clear.  The  white-sailed  boats  glide  slowly 
through  the  water ;  there  is  a  sound  of  music  and  of  gentle 
talk  ;  a  butterfly  comes  fluttering  over  the  blue  summer  seas. 
And  then  there  is  a  murmuring  refrain  in  the  lapping  of  the 
waves  :  Rose  Leaf  !  Rose  Leaf  /  what  fahit  wifid  will  carry 
you  away  to  the  south  ? 

Or  this  audacious  Duchess  of  Devonshire,  with  the  flash- 
ing black  eyes,  and  a  saucy  smile  on  her  lips  ?  She  knows 
that  every  one  regards  her ;  but  what  of  that  ?  Away  she 
goes  through  the  brilliant  throng  with  that  young  Highland 
officer,  with  glowing  light  and  gay  costumes  and  joyous 
music  all  around  her.  What  do  you  think  of  her,  you  poor 
:1  Dwn,  standing  all  alone  and  melancholy,  with  your  cap  and 
bells  ?  Has  she  pierced  your  heart  too  with  a  flash  of  the 
saucy  black  eyes  } 

But  there  is  still  another  vision ;  and  perhaps  this  solitary 
dreamer,  who  has  no  eyes  for  the  great  slopes  of  Ben-an- 
Sloich  that  stretch  into  the  clouds,  and  no  ears  for  the  soft 
calling  of  the  sea-birds  as  they  wheel  over  his  head,  tries 
hardest  to  fix  this  one  in  his  memory.  Here  she  is  the  neat 
and  watchful  house-mistress,  with  all  things  bright  and  shi- 
ning around  her ;  and  she  appears,  too,  as  the  meek  daughter 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  125 

and  the  kind  and  caressing  sister.  Is  it  not  hard  that  she 
should  be  torn  from  this  quiet  little  haven  of  domestic  duties 
and  family  affection  to  be  bound  hand  and  foot  in  the  chains 
of  art,  and  flung  into  the  arena  to  amuse  that  great  ghoul- 
faced  thing,  the  public  ?  The  white  slave  does  not  complain. 
While  as  yet  she  may,  she  presides  over  the  cheerful  table  ; 
and  the  beautiful  small  hands  are  helpful,  and  that  light 
morning  costume  is  a  wonder  of  simplicity  and  grace.  And 
then  the  garden,  and  the  soft  summer  air,  and  the  pretty 
ways  of  the  two  sisters  :  why  should  not  this  simple,  homely, 
beautiful  life  last  forever,  if  only  the  summer  and  the  roses 
would  last  forever  ? 

But  suppose  now  that  we  turn  aside  from  these  fanciful 
pictures  of  Macleod's  and  take  a  more  commonplace  one  of 
which  he  could  have  no  notion  whatever.  It  is  night — a  wet 
and  dismal  night — and  a  four-wheeled  cab  is  jolting  along 
through  the  dark  and  almost  deserted  thoroughfares  of  Man- 
chester. Miss  Gertrude  White  is  in  the  cab,  and  the  truth  is 
that  she  is  in  a  thorough  bad  tem.per.  Whether  it  was  that 
the  unseemly  scuffle  that  took  place  in  the  gallery  during  the 
performance,  or  whether  it  is  that  the  streets  of  Manchester, 
in  the  midst  of  rain  and  after  midnight  are  not  inspiriting, 
or  whether  it  is  merely  that  she  has  got  a  headache,  it  is 
certain  that  Miss  White  is  in  an  ill-humor,  and  that  she  has 
not  spoken  a  word  to  her  maid,  her  only  companion,  since 
together  they  left  the  theatre.  At  length  the  cab  stops  op- 
posite a  hotel,  which  is  apparently  closed  for  the  night.  They 
get  out,  cross  the  muddy  pavements  under  the  glare  of  a  gas- 
lamp  ;  after  some  delay  get  into  the  hotel ;  pass  through  a 
dimly  lit  and  empty  corridor  ;  and  then  Miss  White  bids  her 
maid  good-night  and  opens  the  door  of  a  small  parlor. 

Here  there  is  a  more  cheerful  scene.  There  is  a  fire  in 
the  room  ;  and  ihere  is  supper  laid  on  the  table  ;  while  Mr. 
Septimus  White,  with  his  feet  on  the  fender  and  his  back 
turned  to  the  lamp,  is  seated  in  an  easy-chair,  and  holding 
up  a  book  to  the  light  so  that  the  pages  almost  touch  his 
gold-rimmed  spectacles.  Miss  White  sits  down  on  the  sofa 
on  the  dark  side  of  the  room.  She  has  made  no  response  to 
his  greeting  of  "  Well,  Gerty  ?  " 

At  length  Mr.  White  becomes  aware  that  his  daughter  is 
sitting  there  with  her  things  on,  and  he  turns  from  his  book 
to  her. 

"Well,  Gerty,"  he  repeats,  "aren't  you  going  to  have 
some  supper  ? " 


126  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  she  says. 

"  Come,  come,"  he  remonstrates,  "  that  won't  do.  You 
must  have  some  supper.     Shall  Jane  get  you  a  cup  of  tea  ?  " 

"  I  don't  suppose  there  is  any  one  up  below ;  besides,  I 
don't  want  it,"  says  Miss  White,  rather  wearily. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

*'  Nothing,"  she  answers  ;  and  then  she  looks  at  the  man- 
telpiece.    "  No  letter  from  Carry  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  won't  make  her  an  actress,  papa," 
observes  Miss  White,  with  no  relevance,  but  with  consider- 
able sharpness  in  her  tone. 

In  fact,  this  remark  was  so  unexpected  and  uncalled-for 
that  Mr.  White  suddenly  put  his  book  down  on  his  knee, 
and  turned  his  gold  spectacles  full  on  his  daughter's  face. 

"  I  will  beg  you  to  remember,  Gerty,"  he  remarked,  with 
some  dignity,  "  that  I  did  not  make  you  an  actress,  if  that 
is  what  you  imply.  If  it  had  not  been  entirely  your  wish,  I 
should  never  have  encouraged  you ;  and  I  think  it  shows 
great  ingratitude,  not  only  to  me  but  to  the  public  also,  that 
when  you  have  succeeded  in  obtaining  a  position  such  as 
any  woman  in  the  country  might  envy,  you  treat  your  good 
'^ortune  with  indifference,  and  show  nothing  but  discontent, 
cannot  tell  what  has  come  over  you  of  late.  You  ought 
certainly  to  be  the  last  to  say  anything  against  a  profession 
that  has  gained  for  you  such  a  large  share  of  public  favor — " 

"  Public  favor  !  "  she  said,  with  a  bitter  laugh.  "  Who 
is  the  favorite  of  the  public  in  this  very  town  ?  Why,  the 
girl  who  plays  in  that  farce — who  smokes  a  cigarette,  and 
walks  round  the  stage  like  a  man,  and  dances  a  breakdown. 
Why  wasn't  I  taught  to  dance  breakdowns  ?  " 

Her  father  was  deeply  vexed  ;  for  this  was  not  the  hrst 
time  she  had  dropped  small  rebellious  hints.  And  if  this 
feeling  grew,  she  might  come  to  question  his  most  cherished 
theories. 

"  I  should  think  you  were  jealous  of  that  girl,"  said  he, 
petulantly,  "  if  it  were  not  too  ridiculous.  You  ought  to  re- 
member that  she  is  an  established  favorite  here.  She  has 
amused  these  people  year  after  year ;  they  look  on  her  as  an 
old  friend  ;  they  are  grateful  to  her.  The  means  she  uses 
to  make  people  laugh  may  not  meet  with  your  approval ;  but 
she  knows  her  own  business,  doubtless ;  and  she  succeeds  in 
her  own  way." 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  127 

"  All,  well,"  said  Miss  White,  as  she  put  aside  her  bon- 
net, "  I  hope  you  won't  bring  up  Carry  to  this  sort  of  life." 

"  To  what  sort  of  life  ?  "  her  father  exclaimed,  angrily. 
"Haven't  you  everything  that  can  make  life  pleasant?  I 
don't  know  what  more  you  want.  You  have  not  a  single 
care.  You  are  petted  and  caressed  wherever  you  go.  And 
you  ought  to  have  the  delight  of  knowing  that  the  further 
you  advance  in  your  art  the  further  rewards  are  in  store  for 
you.  The  way  is  clear  before  you.  You  have  youth  and 
strength ;  and  the  public  is  only  too  anxious  to  applaud 
whatever  you  undertake.  And  yet  you  complain  of  your 
manner  of  life." 

"  It  isn't  the  life  of  a  human  being  at  all,"  she  said,  bold- 
ly— but  perhaps  it  was  only  her  headache,  or  her  weariness, 
or  her  illhumor,  that  drove  her  to  this  relDellion ;  "  it  is  the 
cutting  one's  self  off  from  everything  that  makes  life  worth 
having.  It  is  a  continual  degradation — the  exhibition  of 
feelings  that  ought  to  be  a  woman's  most  sacred  and  secret 
possession.  And  what  will  the  end  of  it  be  ?  Already  I  be- 
gin to  think  I  don't  know  what  I  am.  I  have  to  sympathize 
with  so  many  characters — I  have  to  be  so  many  different 
people — that  I  don't  quite  know  what  my  own  character  is, 
or  if  I  have  any  at  all "  « 

Her  father  was  staring  at  her  in  amazement.  What  had 
led  her  into  these  fantastic  notions  ?  While  she  was  profes- 
sing that  her  ambition  to  become  a  great  and  famous  actress% 
was  the  one  ruling  thought  and  object  of  her  life,  was  she 
really  envying  the  poor  domestic  drudge  whom  she  saw  com- 
ing to  the  theatre  to  enjoy  herself  with  her  fool  of  a  husband, 
having  withdrawn  for  an  hour  or  two  from  her  housekeeping 
books  and  her  squalling  children?  At  all  events.  Miss  White 
left  him  in  no  doubt  as  to  her  sentiments  at  that  precise  mo- 
ment. She  talked  rapidly,  and  with  a  good  deal  of  bitter 
feeling  ;  but  it  was  quite  obvious,  from  the  clearness  of  her 
line  of  contention,  that  she  had  been  thinking  over  the  mat- 
ter. And  while  it  was  all  a  prayer  that  her  sister  Carry  might 
be  left  to  live  a  natural  life,  and  that  she  should  not  be  com- 
pelled to  exhibit,  for  gain  or  applause,  emotions  which  a  wo- 
man would  naturally  lock  up  in  her  own  heart,  it  was  also  a 
bitter  protest  against  her  own  lot.  What  was  she  to  become, 
she  asked  ?  A  dram-drinker  oi  fictitious  sentiment  ?  A  Ten- 
minutes'  Emotionalist  ?  It  was  this  last  phrase  that  flashed 
in  a  new  light  on  her  father's  bewildered  mind.  He  remem- 
bered it  instantly.     So  that  was  the  source  of  inoperation  ? 


•128  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"  Oh,  I  see  now,"  he  said,  with  angry  scorn.  "  You  have 
learned  your  lesson  well.  A  *Ten-minules'  Emotionalist:' 
I  remember.  I  was  wondering  who  had  put  such  stuff  into 
your  head." 

She  colored  docj^ly,  but  said  nothing. 

"  And  so  you  are  taking  your  notion,  as  to  what  sort  of 
life  you  would  lead,  from  a  Highland  savage — a  boor  whose 
only  occupations  are  eating  and  drinking  and  killing  wild 
animals.  A  fine  guide,  truly  I  He  has  had  so  much  experience 
in  aesthetic  matters  1  Or  is  it  metaf^heesics  is  his  hobby  t  And 
what,  pray,  is  his  notion  as  to  what  life  should  be  "i  that  the 
noblest  object  of  a  man's  ambition  should  be  to  kill  a  stag  1 
It  was  a  mistake  forLante  to  let  his  work  eat  into  his  heart ; 
he  should  have  devoted  himself  to  shooting  rabbits.  And 
Rajihael — don't  you  think  he  would  have  improved  his  diges- 
tion by  giving  up  pandering  to  the  public  taste  for  pretty 
things,  and  taking  to  hunting  wild-boars  ?  that  is  the  theory, 
isn't  it }  Is  that  the  mdaphccsics  you  have  learned  ?  " 

"  You  may  talk  about  it,"  she  said,  rather  humbly — for 
she  knew  very  well  she  could  not  stand  against  her  father  in 
argument,  especially  on  a  subject  that  he  rather  prided  him- 
self on  having  mastered — "  but  you  are  not  a  woman,  and 
you  don't  know  what  a  woman  feels  about  such  things." 

"  And  since  when  have  you  made  the  discovery?  What 
has  haj^pened  to  convince  you  so  suddenly  that  your  profes- 
isional  life  is  a  degradation  1  " 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  carelessly,  "  I  was  scarcely  thinking  of 
myself.  Of  course  I  know  what  lies  before  me.  It  was  about 
Carry  I  spoke  to  you." 

" Carry  shall  decide  for  IkmscH",  as  you  did;  and  when 
she  has  done  so,  I  hope  she  ^\on'(  ccime  and  blame  me  the 
first  time  she  gets  some  ridiculous  idea  into  her  head." 

"  Now,  papa,  that  isn't  fair,"  the  eldest  sister  said,  in  a 
gentler  voice.  "  You  know  I  never  blamed  you.  I  only 
showed  you  that  even  a  popular  actress  sometimes  remem- 
bers that  she  is  a  woman.  And  if  she  is  a  woman,  you  must 
let  her  have  a  grumble  occasionally." 

This  conciliatory  tone  smoothed  the  matter  down  at  once  ; 
and  Mr.  White  turned  to  his  book  with  another  recommen- 
dation to  his  daughter  to  take  some  supper  and  get  to  bed. 

"  I  will  go  now^,"  she  said,  rather  wearily,  as  she  rose. 
**  Good-night,  papa —    What  is  that }  " 

She  was  looking  at  a  parcel  that  lay  on  a  chair. 

"  It  came  for  you,  to-night.     There  was  seven  and  six- 


AfA  CLEOD  OF  DARE,  129 

pence  to  pay  for  extra  carriage — it  seems  to  have  been  for- 
warded from  place  to  place." 

"  As  if  I  had  not  enough  luggage  to  carry  about  with  me  !  '^ 
she  said. 

But  she  proceeded  to  open  the  parcel  all  the  same,  which 
seemed  to  be  very  carefully  swathed  in  repeated  covers  of 
canvas.  And  presently  she  uttered  a  slight  exclamation. 
She  took  up  one  dark  object  after  another,  passing  her  hand 
over  them,  and  back  again,  and  finally  pressing  them  to  her 
cheek. 

"  Just  look  at  these,  papa — did  you  ever  in  all  your  life 
see  anything  so  beautiful  ?" 

She  came  to  a  letter,  too  ;  which  she  hastily  tore  open  and 
read.  It  was  a  brief  note,  in  terms  of  great  respect,  written 
by  Sir  Keith  Macleod,  and  begging  Miss  White's  acceptance 
of  a  small  parcel  of  otter-skins,  which  he  hoped  might  be 
made  into  some  article  of  attire.  Moreover,  he  had  asked 
his  cousin's  advice  on  the  matter ;  and  she  thought  there  were 
enough;  but  if  Miss  White,  on  further  inquiry,  found  she 
would  rather  have  one  or  two  more,  he  had  no  doubt  that 
within  the  next  month  or  so  he  could  obtain  these  also.  It 
was  a  very  respectful  note. 

But  there  was  no  shyness  or  timidity  about  the  manner  of 
Miss  White  when  she  spread  those  skins  out  along  the  sofa, 
and  again  and  again  took  them  up  to  praise  their  extraordi- 
nary glossiness  and  softness. 

"  Papa,"  she  exclaimed,  "  it  is  a  present  fit  for  a  prince 
to  make  !  " 

"  I  dare  say  you  will  find  them  useful." 

"  And  whatever  is  made  of  them,"  said  she,  with  decision, 
"  that  I  shall  keep  for  myself — it  won't  be  one  of  my  stage 
properties." 

Her  spirits  rose  wonderfully.  She  kept  on  chatting  to 
her  father  about  these  lovely  skins,  and  the  jacket  she  would 
have  of  them.  She  asked  why  he  was  so  dull  that  evening. 
She  protested  that  she  would  not  take  any  supper  unless  he 
had  some  too :  whereupon  he  had  a  biscuit  and  a  glass  of 
claret,  which,  at  all  events,  compelled  him  to  lay  aside  his 
book.  And  then,  when  she  had  finished  her  supper,  she  sud- 
denly said, 

*•  Now,  Pappy  dear,  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  great  secret. 
I  am  going  to  change  the  song  in  the  second  act." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  he  ;  but  he  was  rather  glad  to  see  her 
come  back  to  the  interest  of  her  work. 


I3C  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

"  I  am,"  she  said,  seriously.  "  Would  you  like  to  heai 
it?" 

"  You  ^\dll  wake  the  house  up." 

"  And  if  the  public  expect  an  actress  to  please  them,"  she 
said,  saucily,  "  they  must  take  the  consequences  of  her  prac- 
tising.'. 

She  went  to  the  piano,  and  opened  it.  There  was  a  fine 
courage  in  her  manner  as  she  struck  the  chords  and  sang  the 
opening  lines  of  the  gay  song : — 

"  *  Threescore  o'  nobles  rode  up  the  King's  ha' 
But  bonnie  Glenogie's  the  flower  of  them  a', 
Wi'  his  milk-white  steed  and  his  bonnie  black  e'e.' " 

— but  here  her  voice  dropped,  and  it  was  almost  in  a  whisper 
that  she  let  the  maiden  of  the  song  utter  the  secret  wish  of 
her  heart — ■ 

'' '  Glenogie,  dearmtther,  Glenogie forme? 

"  Of  course,"  she  said,  turning  round  to  her  father,  and 
speaking  in  a  business-like  way,  though  there  was  a  spice  of 
proud  mischief  in  her  eyes,  "  There  is  a  stumbling-block,  or 
where  would  the  story  be  !  Glenogie  is  poor ;  the  mother 
will  not  let  her  daughter  have  anything  to  do  with  him  ;  the 
girl  takes  to  her  bed  with  the  definite  intention  of  dying." 

She  turned  to  the  piano  again. 

"  *  There  is,  Glenogie,  a  letter  for  thee, 
Oh,  there  is,  Glenogie,  a  letter  for  thee. 
The  first  line  he  looked  at,  a  light  laugh  laughed  he  ; 
But  ere  he  read  through  it,  tears  bliaded  his  e*e.'  ■ 

"  How  do  you  like  the  air,  papa  ?  " 

Mr.  White  did  not  seem  over  well  pleased.  He  was  quite 
aware  that  his  daughter  was  a  very  clever  young  woman  ;  and 
he  did  not  know  what  insane  idea  might  have  got  into  her 
head  of  throwing  an  allegory  at  him. 

"  The  air,"  said  he,  coldly,  "  is  well  enough.  But  I  hope 
you  don't  expect  an  English  audience  to  understand  that 
doggerel  Scotch." 

"  Glenogie  understand  it,  any  way,"  said  she,  blithely, 
'*  and  naturally  he  rode  off  at  once  to  see  his  dying  sweet- 
heart. 

"  *  Pale  and  wan  was  she,  when  Glenogie  gaed  ben, 
But  rosy-red  grew  she  when  Glenogie  sat  down. 
She  turned  away  her  head,  but  the  smile  was  in  her  e'e, 
*  Ohy  binjta/eared,  mtther,  Vll  maybe  no  dee?  " 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  1^1 

She  shut  the  piano. 

"  Isn't  it  charmingly  simple  and  tender,  papa  ?  "  she  said, 
with  the  same  mischief  in  her  eyes. 

'  I  think  it  is  foolish  of  you  to  think  of  exchanging  that 
piece  of  doggerel — " 

"  For  what  ?  "  said  she,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
room.     "  For  this  ?  " 

And  therewith  she  sang  these  lines — giving  an  admirable 
burlesque  imitation  of  herself,  and  her  own  gestures,  and  her 
own  singing  in  the  part  she  was  then  performing  : — 

"  The  morning  bells  are  swinging,  ringing, 
Hail  to  the  day  ! 
The  birds  are  winging,  singing 
To  the  golden  day — 
^  To  the  joyous  day — 

The  morning  bells  are  swinging,  ringing, 
And  what  do  they  say  ? 
O  bring  my  love  to  my  love  ! 
O  bring  my  love  to-day  • 
O  bring  my  love  to  my  love  ! 
To  be  my  love  alway  ! '  " 

It  certainly  was  cruel  to  treat  poor  Mrs.  Ross's  home- 
made lyrics  so  ;  but  Miss  White  was  burlesquing  herself  as 
well  as  the  song  she  had  to  sing.  And  as  her  father  did  not 
know  to  what  lengths  this  iconoclastic  fit  might  lead  her,  he 
abruptly  bade  her  good-night  and  went  to  bed,  no  doubt 
hoping  that  next  morning  would  find  the  demon  exorcised 
from  his  daughter. 

As  for  her,  she  had  one  more  loving  look  over  the  skins, 
and  then  she  carefully  read  through  the  note  that  accompa- 
nied them.  There  was  a  smile  on  her  face — perhaps  of 
pleasure,  perhaps  of  amusement  at  the  simplicity  of  the  lines. 
However,  she  turned  aside,  and  got  hold  of  a  small  writing- 
desk,  which  she  placed  on  the  table. 

"  *  Oh,  here  is,  Glenogie,  a  letter  for  thee,'  " 

she  hummed  to  herself,  with  a  rather  proud  look  on  her  face, 
as  she  seated  herself  and  opened  the  desk. 


J 32  MA  CLE  on  OF  DARE. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

*'  FHIR    A    BHATA  !  " 

Young  Ogilvie  had  obtained  some  brief  extension  of  hia 
leave,  but  even  that  was  drawing  to  a  close  ;  and  Macleod 
saw  with  a  secret  dread  that  the  hour  of  his  departure  was 
fast  approaching.  And  yet  he  had  not  victimized  the  young 
man.  After  that  first  burst  of  confidence  he  had  been  spar- 
ing in  his  references  to  the  trouble  that  had  beset  him.  Oh 
what  avail,  besides,  could  Mr.  Ogilvie's  counsels  be  ?  Once 
or  twice  he  had  ventured  to  approach  the  subject  with  some 
commonplace  assurances  that  there  were  always  difficulties 
in  the  way  of  two  people  getting  married,  and  that  they  had 
to  be  overcome  with  patience  and  courage.  The  difficulties 
that  Macleod  knew  of  as  between  himself  and  that  impos- 
sible goal  were  deeper  than  any  mere  obtaining  of  the  con- 
sent of  friends  or  the  arrangement  of  a  way  of  living.  From 
the  moment  that  the  terrible  truth  was  forced  on  him  he  had 
never  regarded  his  case  but  as  quite  hopeless  ;  and  yet  that 
in  no  way  moderated  his  consuming  desire  to  see  her — to 
hear  her  speak — even  to  have  correspondence  with  her.  It 
was  something  that  he  could  send  her  a  parcel  of  otter-skins. 

But  all  the  same  Mr.  Ogilvie  was  in  some  measure  a  friend 
of  hers.  He  knew  her — he  had  spoken  to  her — no  doubt 
when  he  returned  to  the  South  he  would  see  her  one  day  or 
another,and  he  would  surely  speak  of  the  visit  he  had  paid  to 
Castle  Dare.  Macleod  set  about  making  that  visit  as  pleasant 
as  might  be,  and  the  weather  aided  him.  The  fair  heavens 
shone  over  the  windy  blue  seas ;  and  the  green  island  of 
Ulva  lay  basking  in  the  sunlight,  and  as  the  old  Umpir€,  witli 
her  heavy  bows  parting  the  rushing  waves,  carried  them  ou' 
to  the  west,  they  could  see  the  black  skarts  standing  on  the 
rocks  of  Gometra,  and  clouds  of  puffins  wheeling  round  the 
dark  and  lonely  pillars  of  Staffa;  while  away  in  the  north, 
as  they  got  clear  of  Treshanish  Point,  the  mountains  of  Rum 
and  of  Skye  appeared  a  pale  and  spectral  blue,  like  ghostly 
shadows  at  the  horizon.  And  there  was  no  end  to  the  sports 
and  pastimes  that  occupied  day  after  day.     On  their  first  ex- 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  133 

pedition  up  the  lonely  corries  of  Ben-an-Sloich  young  Ogilvie 
brought  down  a  royal  hart — though  his  hand  trembled  for 
ten  minutes  after  he  pulled  the  trigger.  They  shot  wild  duck 
in  Loch  Scridain,  and  seals  in  Loch-na-Keal,  and  rock- 
pigeons  along  the  face  of  the  honey-combed  cliffs  of  Gribun. 
And  what  w^as  this  new  form  of  sport  ?  They  were  one  day 
being  pulled  in  the  gig  up  a  shallow  loch  in  the  hope  of  find- 
ing a  brood  or  two  of  young  mergansers,  when  Macleod,  who 
was  seated  up  at  the  bow,  suddenly  called  to  the  man  to 
stop.  He  beckoned  to  Ogilvie,  who  went  forward  and  saw, 
quietly  moving  over  the  sea-weed,  a  hideously  ugly  fish  with 
the  flat  head  and  sinister  eyes  of  a  snake.  Macleod  picked 
up  the  boat-hook,  steadied  himself  in  the  boat,  and  then  drove 
the  iron  spike  down. 

"  I  have  him,"  he  said.  "  That  is  the  snake  of  the  sea — 
I  hate  him  as  I  hate  a  serpent." 

He  hoisted  out  of  the  water  the  dead  dog-fish,  which  was 
about  four  feet  long,  and  then  shook  it  back. 

"  Here,  Ogilvie,"  said  he,  "  take  the  boat-hook.  There 
are  plenty  about  here.  Make  yourself  St,  Patrick  extermi- 
nating snakes." 

Ogilvie  tried  the  dog-fish  spearing  with  more  or  less  suc- 
cess ;  but  it  was  the  means  of  procuring  for  him  a  bitter  dis- 
appointment. As  they  went  quietly  over  the  sea-weed — the 
keel  of  the  boat  hissing  through  it  and  occasionally  grating 
on  the  sand — they  perceived  that  the  water  was  getting  a 
bit  deeper,  and  it  \vas  almost  imposssible  to  strike  the  boat- 
hook  straight.  At  this  moment,  Ogilvie,  happening  to  cast 
a  glance  along  the  rocks  close  by  them,  started  and  seized 
Macleod's  arm.  What  the  frightened  eyes  of  the  younger 
man  seemed  to  see  w^as  a  great  white  and  gray  object  lying 
on  the  rocks,  and  staring  at  him  with  huge  black  eyes.  At 
first  it  almost  appeared  to  him  to  be  a  man  with  a  grizzled 
and  hairy  face ;  then  he  tried  to  think  of  some  white  beast 
wdth  big  black  eyes  ;  then  he  knew.  For  the  next  second 
there  was  an  unwieldy  roll  down  the  rocks,  and  then  a  heavy 
splash  in  the  water  ;  and  the  huge  gray  seal  had  disappeared. 
And  there  he  stood  helpless,  with  the  boat-hook  in  his  hand. 

"  It  is  my  usual  luck,"  said  he,  in  despair.  "  If  I  had 
had  my  rifle  in  my  hand,  we  should  never  have  got  within  a 
hundred  yards  of  the  beast.  But  I  got  an  awful  fright.  I 
never  before  saw  a  live  seal  just  in  front  of  one's  nose  like 
that." 

"  You  would  have  missed  him,"  said  Macleod,  coolly. 


134  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"  At  a  dozen  yards  ?  " 

"  Yes.  When  you  come  on  one  so  near  as  that,  you  are 
too  startled  to  take  aim.  \ou  would  have  blazed  away  and 
missed." 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Ogilvie,  with  some  modest  per- 
sistence. "  When  I  shot  tliat  stag,  I  was  steady  enough, 
though  I  felt  my  heart  thumping  away  like  fun." 

"  There  you  had  plenty  of  time  to  take  your  aim — and  a 
rock  to  rest  your  rifle  on."  And  then  he  added :  "  You 
would  have  broken  Hamish's  heart,  Ogilvie,  if  you  had  missed 
that  stag.  He  was  quite  determined  you  should  have  one  on 
your  first  day  out ;  and  I  never  saw  him  take  such  elaborate 
precautions  before.  I  suppose  it  was  terribly  tedious  to  you  ; 
but  you  may  depend  on  it  it  was  necessary.  There  isn't  one 
of  the  younger  men  can  match  Hamish,  though  he  was  bred  a 
sailor." 

"Well,"  Mr.  Ogilvie  admitted,  "I  began  to  think  we 
were  having  a  great  deal  of  trouble  for  nothing  ;  especially 
when  it  seemed  as  though  the  wind  were  blowing  half  a 
dozen  ways  in  the  one  valley." 

"  Why,  man,"  Macleod  said,  **  Hamish  knows  every  one 
of  those  eddies  just  as  if  they  were  all  down  on  a  chart. 
And  he  is  very  determined,  too,  you  shall  have  another  stag 
before  you  go,  Ogilvie  ;  for  it  is  not  much  amusement  we 
have  been  giving  you  since  you  came  to  us." 

"That  is  why  I  feel  so  particularly  jolly  at  the  notion  ol 
having  to  go  back,"  said  Mr.  Ogilvie,  with  very  much  the 
air  of  a  schoolboy  at  the  end  of  his  holiday.  "  The  day 
after  to-morrow,  too  !  " 

"  To-morrow,  then,  we  will  try  to  get  a  stag  for  you  ; 
and  the  day  after  you  can  spend  what  time  you  can  at  the 
pools  in  Glen  Muick." 

These  last  two  days  were  right  royal  days  for  the  guest 
at  Castle  Dare.  On  the  deer-stalking  expedition  Macleod 
simply  refused  to  take  his  rifle  with  him,  and  spent  all  his 
time  in  whispered  consultations  with  Hamish,  and  with  eager 
watching  of  every  bird  whose  solitary  flight  along  the  moun- 
tain-side might  startle  the  wary  hinds.  After  a  long  day  of 
patient  and  stealthy  creeping,  and  walking  through  bogs  and 
streams,  and  slow  toiling  up  rocky  slopes,  the  party  returned 
home  in  the  evening ;  and  when  it  was  found  that  a  splen- 
did stag — with  brow,  bay,  and  tray,  and  crockets  complete 
—was  strapped  on  to  the  pony,  and  when  the  word  was 
passed  that  Sandy  the  red-haired  and  John  from  the  yacht. 


MACLEOD  CF  DARE. 


35 


were  to  take  back  the  pony  to  a  certain  well-known  cairn 
where  another  monarch  of  the  hills  lay  slain,  there  was  a 
great  rejoicing  through  Castle  Dare,  and  f.ady  Macleod  her- 
self must  needs  come  out  to  shake  hands  with  her  guest,  and 
to  congratulate  him  on  his  good  fortune. 

"It- is  little  we  have  been  able  to  do  to  entertain  you," 
said  the  old  silver-haired  lady,  "  but  I  am  glad  you  have  got 
a  stag  or  two." 

"  I  knew  what  Highland  hospitality  was  before  I  came 
to  Castle  Dare,"  said  the  boy,  modestly.  "  But  you  have 
been  kinder  to  me  even  than  anything  I  knew  before." 

"  And  you  will  leave  the  heads  with  Hamish,"  said  she, 
"  and  we  will  send  them  to  Glasgow  to  be  mounted  for  you, 
and  then  we  will  send  them  South  to  you." 

"  Indeed  no,"  said  he  (though  he  was  thinking  to  him- 
self that  it  was  no  wonder  the  Macleods  of  Dare  were  poor); 
"  I  will  not  put  you  to  any  such  trouble.  I  will  make  my 
own  arrangements  with  Hamish." 

"Then  you  will  tell  him  not  to  forget  Aldershot." 

"  I  think.  Lady  Macleod,"  said  the  young  lieutenant, 
"  that  my  mess-companions  will  be  sorry  to  hear  that  I  have 
left  Dare.  I  should  think  they  ought  to  have  drunk  your 
health  many  times  ere  now." 

Next  day,  moreover,  he  was  equally  successful  by  the  side 
of  the  deep  brown  pools  in  Glen  Muick.  He  was  a  pretty 
fair  fisherman,  though  he  had  had  but  small  experience  with 
such  a  mighty  engine  of  a  rod  as  Hamish  put  into  his  hands. 
When,  however,  he  showed  Hamish  the  fine  assortment  of 
salmon  flies  he  had  brought  with  him,  the  old  man  only  shook 
his  head.  Thereafter,  whenever  Hamish  went  with  him, 
nothing  was  said  about  flies  until  they  neared  the  side  of  the 
brawling  stream  that  came  pouring  down  between  the  gray 
rocks  and  the  patches  of  moist  brown  moor.  Hamish 
would  sit  down  on  a  stone,  and  take  out  a  tin  box  and  open 
it.  Then  he  would  take  a  quick  look  round — at  the  aspect 
of  the  clouds,  the  direction  of  the  wind,  and  so  forth ;  and 
then,  with  a  nimbleness  that  any  one  looking  at  his  rough 
hands  and  broad  thumbs  would  have  considered  impossible, 
would  busk  up  a  weapon  of  capture  that  soon  showed  itself 
to  be  deadly  enough.  And  on  this  last  day  of  Ogilvie's  stay 
at  Castle  Dare  he  was  unusually  lucky — though  of  course 
there  were  one  or  two  heartrending  mishaps.  As  they  walked 
home  in  the  evening — the  lowering  day  had  cleared  away 
into  a  warm  sunset,  and  they  could  see  Colonsay,  and  Fladda, 


136  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

and  the  Dutchman's  Cap,  lying  dark  and  purple  on  a  golden 
sea — Ogilvie  said  : — 

"  Look  here,  Macleod,  if  you  would  like  me  to  take  one 
of  these  salmon  for  Miss  White,  I  could  take  it  as  part  of  my 
luggage,  and  have  it  delivered  at  once." 

"  That  would  be  no  use,"  said  he,  rather  gloomily.  "  She 
is  not  in  London.  She  is  at  Liverpool  or  Manchester  by 
this  time.     I  have  already  sent  her  a  present." 

Ogilvie  did  not  think  fit  to  ask  what ;  though  he  had 
guessed. 

"  It  was  a  parcel  of  otter-skins,"  Macleod  said.  "  You 
see,  you  might  present  that  to  any  lady — it  is  merely  a  curi- 
osity of  the  district — it  is  no  more  than  if  an  acquaintance 
were  to  give  me  a  chip  of  quartz  he  had  brought  from  the 
Rocky  Mountains  with  a  few  grains  of  copper  or  silver  in  it." 

"  It  is  a  present  any  lady  would  be  glad  to  have,"  ob- 
served Mr.  Ogilvie,  with  a  smile.     "  Has  she  got  them  yet  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  Macleod  answered.  "  Perhaps  there 
is  not  time  for  an  answer.  Perhaps  she  has  forgotten  who  I 
am,  and  is  affronted  at  a  stranger  sending  her  a  present." 

"  Forgotten  who  you  are  ! "  Ogilvie  exclaimed ;  and  then 
he  looked  round  to  see  that  Hamish  and  Sandy  the  red- 
haired  were  at  a  con\4enient  distance.  "  Do  you  know  this, 
Macleod  ?  A  man  never  yet  was  in  love  with  a  woman  with- 
out the  woman  being  instantly  aware  of  it." 

Macleod  glanced  at  him  quickly  ;  then  turned  away  his 
head  again,  apparently  watching  the  gulls  wheeling  high 
over  the  sea — black  spots  against  the  glow  of  the  sunset. 

"  That  is  foolishness,"  said  he.  "  I  had  a  great  care  to 
be  quite  a  stranger  to  her  all  the  time  I  was  in  London.  I 
myself  scarcely  knew — how  could  she  know  ?  Sometimes  I 
thought  I  was  rude  to  her,  so  that  I  should  deceive  myself 
into  believing  she  was  only  a  stranger." 

Then  he  remembered  one  fact,  and  his  downright  honesty 
made  him  speak  again. 

"  One  night,  it  is  true,"  said  he — "  it  was  the  last  night 
of  my  being  in  London — I  asked  a  flower  from  her.  She 
gave  it  to  me.  She  was  laughing  at  the  time.  That  was 
all." 

The  sunset  had  gone  away,  and  the  clear  northern  twilight 
was  fading  too,  when  young  Ogilvie,  having  bade  good-bye 
to  Lady  Macleod  and  her  niece  Janet,  got  into  the  broad- 
beamed  boat  of  the  fishermen,  accompanied  by  his  friend. 
There  was  something  of  a  breeze,  and  they  hoisted  a  lugsail 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


137 


SO  that  they  should  run  out  to  meet  the  steamer.  Donald 
the  piper  lad  was  not  with  them  ;  Macleod  wanted  to  speak 
to  his  friend  Ogilvie  as  he  was  leaving. 

And  yet  he  did  not  say  anything  of  importance.  He| 
seemed  to  be  chiefly  interested  in  finding  out  whether  Ogil- 
vie could  not  get  a  few  days'  leave,  about  Christmas,  that  he 
might  come  up  and  try  the  winter  shooting.  He  was  giving 
minute  particulars  about  the  use  of  arsenic  paste  when  the 
box  of  skins  to  be  despatched  by  Hamish  reached  London; 
and  he  was  discussing  what  sort  of  mounting  should  be  put 
on  a  strange  old  bottle  that  Janet  Macleod  had  presented  to 
the  departing  guest.  There  was  no  word  of  that  which  lay 
nearest  his  heart. 

And  so  the  black  waves  rolled  by  them  ;  and  the  light  at 
the  horizon  began  to  fade  ;  and  the  stars  were  coming  out 
one  by  one  ;  while  the  two  sailors  forward  (for  Macleod  was 
steering)  were  singing  to  themselves  : 

'*  Fhir  a  bhata  {na  horo  eile) 
Fhir  a  bhata  {na  horo  eile) 
Fhir  a  bhata  {na  horo  eile) 
Chead soire  slann  kid  ge  thobh  a  theidu  I  '* 

that  is  to  say, 

'*  O  Boatman, 
And  Boatman, 
And  Eoatman, 
A  hmidred  farewells  to  you  wherever  you  may  go  ?" 

And  then  the  lug-sail  was  hauled  down,  and  they  lay  on 
the  lapping  water  ;  and  they  could  hear  all  around  them  the 
soft  callings  of  the  guillemots  and  razor-bills,  and  other  divers 
whose  home  is  the  heaving  wave.  And  then  the  great  steamer 
came  up  and  slowed  ;  and  the  boat  was  hauled  alongside  and 
young  Ogilvie  sprang  up  the  slippery  steps, 

"  Good-bye,  Macleod  !  " 

"  Good-bye,  Ogilvie  !    Come  up  at  Christmas." 

The  great  bulk  of  the  steamer  soon  floated  away,  and  the 
lug-sail  was  run  up  again,  and  the  boat  made  slowly  back  for 
Castle  Dare.  "  Fhir  a  bhata  !  "  the  men  sung ;  but  Macleod 
scarcely  heard  them.  His  last  tie  with  the  South  had  been 
broken. 

But  not  quite.  It  was  about  ten  o'clock  that  night  that 
word  came  to  Castle  Dare  that  Dugald  the  Post  had  met  with 
an  accident  that  morning  while  starting  from  Bunessan  ;  and 
that  his  place  had  been  taken  by  a  young  lad  who  had  but 


138  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

now  arrived  with  the  bag.  Macleod  hastily  looked  over  the 
bundle  of  newspapers,  etc.,  they  brought  him,  and  his  eager 
eyes  fell  on  an  envelope,  the  writing  on  which  made  his  heart 
jump. 

"  Give  the  lad  a  half-crown,"  said  he. 

And  then  he  went  to  his  own  room.  He  had  the  letter  *n 
his  hand ;  and  he  knew  the  handwriting ;  but  there  was  no 
wind  of  the  night  that  could  bring  him  the  mystic  message 
she  had  sent  with  it : 

'*  Oh^  here  isy  Glenogie,  a  letter  for  thee!  " 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

CONFIDENCES. 

For  a  second  or  two  he  held  the  letter  in  his  hand,  re- 
garding the  outside  of  it ;  and  it  was  with  more  deliberation 
than  haste  that  he  opened  it.  Perhaps  it  was  with  some  little 
tremor  of  fear — lest  the  first  words  that  should  meet  his  eye 
might  be  cruelly  cold  and  distant.  What  right  had  he  to  ex- 
pect anything  else  ?  Many  a  time,  in  thinking  carefully  over 
the  past,  he  had  recalled  the  words — the  very  tone — in  which 
he  had  addressed  her,  and  had  been  dismayed  to  think  of 
their  reserve,  which  had  on  one  or  two  occasions  almost 
amounted  to  austerity.  He  could  expect  little  beyond  a  for- 
mal acknowledgment  of  the  receiving  of  his  letter,  and  the 
present  that  had  accompanied  it. 

Imagine,  then,  his  surprise  when  he  took  out  from  the 
envelope  a  number  of  sheets  closely  written  over  in  her  beau- 
tiful, small,  neat  hand.  Hastily  his  eye  ran  over  the  first  few 
lines  ;  and  then  surprise  gave  way  to  a  singular  feeling  of 
gratitude  and  joy.  Was  it  indeed  she  who  was  writing  to 
him  thus  .?  When  he  had  been  thinking  of  her  as  some  one 
far  away  and  unapproachable — who  could  have  no  thought 
of  him  or  of  the  too  brief  tim6  in  which  he  had  been  near  to 
her — had  she  indeed  been  treasuring  up  some  recollection 
that  she  now  seemed  disposed  to  value  ? 

"  You  will  guess  that  I  am  woman  enough,"  she  wrote, 
"  to  be  greatly  pleased  and  flattered  by  your  sending  me  such 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


^39 


a  beautiful  present ;  but  you  must  believe  me  when  I  say  that 
its  chief  value  to  me  was  its  showing  me  that  I  had  another 
friend  in  the  world  who  was  not  disposed  to  forget  me  the 
next  day  after  bidding  me  good-bye.  Perhaps  you  will  say 
that  I  am  cynical ;  but  actresses  are  accustomed  to  find  the 
friendships  they  make — outside  the  sphere  of  their  own  pro- 
fession— of  a  singularly  temporary  character.  We  are  praised 
and  flattered  to-day,  and  forgotten  to-morrow.  I  don't  com- 
plain. It  is  only  natural.  People  go  away  to  their  own 
families  and  home  occupations  ;  why  should  they  remember 
a  person  who  has  amused  them  for  an  hour  t  " 

Miss  Gertrude  White  could,  when  she  chose,  write  a  clever 
and  interesting  letter — interesting  from  its  very  simplicity 
and  frankness  ;  and  as  Macleod  read  on  and  on,  he  ceased 
to  feel  any  wonder  that  this  young  lady  should  be  placing 
before  him  such  ample  revelations  of  her  experiences  and 
opinions.  Indeed,  it  was  more  than  suggested  in  this  con- 
fidential chat  that  Sir  Keith  Macleod  himself  had  been  the 
first  cause  of  her  having  carefully  studied  her  own  position, 
and  the  influence  likely  to  be  exerted  on  her  by  her  present 
mode  of  life. 

"  One  meets  with  the  harsher  realities  of  an  actress's 
life,"  she  said,  "  in  the  provinces.  It  is  all  very  fine  in  Lon- 
don, when  all  the  friends  you  happen  to  have  are  in  town, 
and  where  there  is  constant  amusement,  and  pleasant  parties, 
and  nice  people  to  meet ;  and  then  you  have  the  comforts  of 
your  own  home  around  you,  and  quiet  and  happy  Sundays. 
But  a  provincial  tour ! — the  constant  travelling,  and  rehears- 
als with  strange  people,  and  damp  lodgings,  and  miserable 
hotels,  and  wet  Sundays  in  smoky  towns !  Papa  is  very  good 
and  kind,  you  know  ;  but  he  is  interested  in  his  books,  and 
he  goes  about  all  day  hunting  after  curiosities,  and  one  has 
not  a  soul  to  speak  to.  Then  the  audiences  :  I  have  wit- 
nessed one  or  two  scenes  lately  that  would  unnerve  any  one  ; 
and  of  course  I  have  to  stand  helpless  and  silent  on  the  stage 
until  the  tumult  is  stilled  and  the  original  offenders  expelled. 
Some  sailors  the  other  evening  amused  themselves  by  clam- 
bering down  the  top  gallery  to  the  pit,  hanging  on  to  the  gas- 
brackets and  the  pillars  ;  and  one  of  them  managed  to  reach 
the  orchestra,  jump  from  the  drum  on  to  the  stage,  and  then 
offered  me  a  glass  of  whiskey  from  a  big  black  bottle  he  had 
in  his  hand.  When  I  told  papa,  he  laughed,  and  said  I  should 
be  proud  of  my  triumph  over  the  man's  imagination.  But 
when  the  people  roared  with   laughter  at  my  discomfiture,  J 


140  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

felt  as  though  I  would  rather  be  earning  my  bread  by  selling 
watercresses  in  the  street  or  by  stitching  in  a  garret." 

Of  course  the  cry  of  the  poor  injured  soul  found  a  ready 
echo  in  his  heart.  It  was  monstrous  that  she  should  be  sub- 
jected to  such  indignities.  And  then  that  cruel  old  pagan 
of  a  father —  was  he  not  ashamed  of  himself  to  see  the  results 
of  his  own  cold-blooded  theories  ?  Was  this  the  glory  of  art  ? 
Was  this  the  reward  of  the  sacrifice  of  a  life  ?  That  a  sensi- 
tive girl  should  be  publicly  insulted  by  a  tipsy  maniac,  and 
jeered  at  by  a  brutal  crowd  ?  Macleod  laid  down  the  letter 
for  a  minute  or  two,  and  the  look  on  his  face  was  not  lovely 
to  see. 

"  You  may  think  it  strange  that  I  should  write  thus  to 
you,"  s-he  said  ;  "  but  if  I  say  that  it  was  yourself  who  first 
set  me  thinking  about  such  things  .'*  And  since  I  have  been 
thinking  about  them  I  have  had  no  human  being  near  me  to 
whom  I  could  speak.  You  know  papa's  opinions.  Even  if 
my  dearest  friend,  Mrs.  Ross,  were  here,  what  would  she  say  ? 
She  has  known  me  only  in  London.  She  thinks  it  a  fine 
thing  to  be  a  popular  actress.  She  sees  people  ready  to  pet 
me,  in  a  way — so  long  as  society  is  pleased  to  have  a  little 
curiosity  about  me.  But  she  does  not  see  the  other  side  of 
the  picture.  She  does  not  even  ask  how  long  all  this  will 
last.  She  never  thinks  of  the  cares  and  troubles  and  down- 
right hard  work.  If  ever  you  heard  me  sing,  you  will  know 
that  I  have  very  little  of  a  voice,  and  that  not  worth  much  ; 
but  trifling  as  it  is,  you  would  scarcely  believe  the  care  and 
cultivation  I  have  to  spend  on  it,  merely  for  business  pur- 
poses. Mrs.  Ross,  no  doubt,  sees  that  it  is  pleasant  enough 
for  a  young  actress,  who  is  fortunate  enough  to  have  won 
some  public  favor,  to  go  sailing  in  a  yacht  on  the  Thames, 
on  a  summer  day,  with  nice  companions  around  her.  She 
does  not  see  her  on  a  wet  day  in  Newcastle,  practising  scales 
for  an  hour  at  a  stretch,  though  her  throat  is  half  choked 
with  the  fog,  in  a  dismal  parlor  with  a  piano  out  of  tune,  and 
with  the  prospect  of  having  to  go  out  through  the  wet  to  a  re- 
hearsal in  a  damp  and  draughty  theatre,  with  escaped  gas  ad- 
ded to  the  fog.     That  is  very  nice,  isn't  it  ?  " 

It  almost  seemed  to  him — so  intense  and  eager  was  his 
involuntary  sympathy — as  though  he  himself  were  breathing 
fog,  and  gas,  and  the  foul  odors  of  an  empty  theatre.  He 
went  to  the  window  and  threw  it  open,  and  sat  down  there. 
The  stars  were  no  longer  quivering  white  on  the  black  surface 
of  the  water,  for  the  moon  had  risen  now  in  the  south,   and 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


141 


there  was  a  soft  glow  all  shining  over  the  smooth  Atlantic. 
Sharp  and  white  was  the  light  on  the  stone-walls  of  Castle 
Dare,  and  on  the  gravelled  path,  and  the  rocks  and  the  trees 
around  ;  but  faraway  it  was  a  milder  radiance  that  lay  over 
the  sea,  and  touched  here  and  there  the  shores  of  Inch  Ken- 
neth and  Ulva  and  Colonsay.  It  was  a  fair  and  peaceful 
night,  with  no  sound  of  human  unrest  to  break  the  sleep  of 
the  world.  Sleep,  solemn  and  profound,  dwelt  over  the  lone- 
ly islands — over  Staffa,  with  her  resounding  caves,  and  Flad- 
da,  with  her  desolate  rocks,  and  lona,  with  her  fairy-white 
sands,  and  the  distant  Dutchman,  and  Coll,  and  Tiree,  all 
haunted  by  the  wild  sea-birds'  cry  ;  and  a  sleep  as  deep 
dwelt  over  the  silent  hills,  far  up  under  the  cold  light  of  the 
skies.  Surely,  if  any  poor  suffering  heart  was  vexed  by  the 
contentions  of  crowded  cities,  here,  if  anywhere  in  the  world, 
might  rest  and  peace  and  loving  solace  be  found.  He  sat 
dreaming  there  ;  he  had  half  forgotten  the  letter. 

He  roused  himself  from  his  reverie,  and  returned  to  the 
light. 

"  And  yet  I  would  not  complain  of  mere  discomfort," 
she  continued,  "if  that  were  all.  People  who  have  to  work, 
for  their  living  must  not  be  too  particular.  What  pains  me 
most  of  all  is  the  effect  that  this  sort  of  work  is  having  on 
myself.  You  would  not  believe — and  I  am  almost  ashamed 
to  confess — how  I  am  worried  by  small  and  mean  jealousies 
and  anxieties,  and  how  I  am  tortured  by  the  expression  of 
opinions  which,  all  the  same,  I  hold  in  contempt.  I  reason 
with  myself  to  no  purpose.  It  ought  to  be  no  concern  of 
mine  if  some  girl  in  a  burlesque  makes  the  house  roar,  by 
the  manner  in  which  she  walks  up  and  down  the  stage  smok- 
ing a  cigar ;  and  yet  I  feel  angry  at  the  audience  for  ap- 
plauding such  stuff,  and  I  wince  when  I  see  her  praised  in 
the  papers.  Oh !  these  papers !  I  have  been  making 
minute  inquiries  of  late  ;  and  I  find  that  the  usual  way  in 
these  towns  is  to  let  the  young  literary  aspirant  who  has  just 
joined  the  office,  or  the  clever  compositor  who  has  been  pro- 
moted to  the  sub-editor's  room,  try  his  hand  first  of  all  at 
reviewing  books,  and  then  turn  him  on  to  dramatic  and  musi- 
cal criticism  !  Occasionally  a  reporter,  who  has  been  round 
the  police  courts  to  get  notes  of  the  night  charges,  will  drop 
into  the  theatre  on  his  way  to  the  office,  and  '  do  a  par.,'  as 
they  call  it.  Will  you  believe  it  possible  that  the  things 
written  of  me  by  these  persons — with  their  pretentious 
airs  of  criticism,  and  their  gross  ignorance   cropping  up  at 


42 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


every  point — have  the  power  to  vex  and  annoy  me  most  ter- 
ribly ?  I  laugh  at  the  time,  but  the  phrase  rankles  in  my 
memory  all  the  same.  One  learned  young  man  said  ot  me 
the  other  day :  '  It  is  really  distressing  to  mark  the  want  of 
unity  in  her  artistic  characterizations  when  one  regards  the 
natural  advantages  that  nature  has  heaped  upon  her  with  no 
sparing  hand.'  The  natural  advantages  that  nature  has 
heaped  upon  me  !  '  And  perhaps,  also,'  he  went  on  to  say, 
*Miss  White  would  do  well  to  pay  some  little  more  atten- 
tion before  venturing  on  pronouncing  the  classic  names  of 
Greece.  Iphigenia  herself  would  not  have  answered  to  her 
name  if  she  had  heard  it  pronounced  with  the  accent  on  the 
fourth  syllable.'  " 

Macleod  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  table  with  a  bang. 

"  If  I  had  that  fellow,"  said  he,  aloud — "  if  I  had  that 
fellow,  I  should  like  to  spin  for  a  shark  off  Dubh  Artach 
lighthouse."  And  here  a  most  unholy  vision  rose  before 
him  of  a  new  sort  of  sport — a  sailing  launch  going  about  six 
knots  an  hour,  a  goodly  rope  at  the  stern  with  a  huge  hook 
through  the  gill  of  the  luckless  critic,  a  swivel  to  make  him 
spin,  and  then  a  few  smart  trips  up  and  down  by  the  side  of 
the  lonely  Dubh  Artach  rocks,  where  Mr.  Ewingandhis  com- 
panions occasionally  find  a  few  sharks  coming  up  to  the  sur- 
face to  stare  at  them. 

"  Is  it  not  too  ridiculous  that  such  things  should  vex  me 
— that  I  should  be  so  absolutely  at  the  mercy  of  the  opinion 
of  people  whose  judgment  I  know  to  be  absolutely  valueless  ? 
I  find  the  same  thing  all  around  me.  I  find  a  middle-aged 
man,  who  knows  his  work  thoroughly,  and  has  seen  all  the 
best  actors  of  the  past  quarter  of  a  century,  will  go  about 
quite  proudly  with  a  scrap  of  approval  from  some  newspaper, 
written  by  a  young  man  who  has  never  travelled  beyond  the 
suburbs  of  his  native  town,  and  has  seen  no  acting  beyond 
that  of  the  local  company.  But  there  is  another  sort  of  critic 
— the  veteran,  the  man  who  has  worked  hard  on  the  paper 
and  worn  himself  out,  and  who  is  turned  off  from  politics, 
and  pensioned  by  being  allowed  to  display  his  imbecility  in 
less  important  matters.  Oh  dear!  what  lessons  he  reads 
you  !  The  solemnity  of  them  !  Don't  you  know  that  at  the 
end  of  the  second  act  the  business  of  Mrs.  So-and-So  (some 
actress  who  died  when  George  IV.  was  king)  was  this,  that,  oi 
the  other  ? — and  how  dare  you,you  impertinent  minx,  fly  in  the 
face  of  well-known  stage  traditions  ?  I  have  been  introduced 
lately  to  a  specimen  of  both  classes.     I  think  the  young  man 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  143 

— he  had  beautiful  long  fair  hair  and  a  Byronic  collar,  and 
was  a  little  nervous — fell  in  love  with  me,  for  he  wrote  a 
furious  panegyric  of  me,  and  sent  it  next  morning  with  a 
bouquet,  and  begged  for  my  photograph.  The  elderly  gen-, 
tleman,  on  the  other  hand,  gave  me  a  great  deal  of  good  ad- 
vice ;  but  I  subdued  even  him,  for  before  he  went  away  he 
spoke  in  a  broken  voice,  and  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes, 
which  papa  said  were  owing  to  a  variety  of  causes.  It  is 
ludicrous  enough,  no  doubt,  but  it  is  also  a  little  bit  humilia- 
ting. I  try  to  laugh  the  thing  away,  whether  the  opinion  ex- 
pressed about  me  is  solemnly  stupid  or  merely  impertinent, 
but  the  vexation  of  it  remains  ;  and  the  chief  vexation  to  me 
is  that  I  should  have  so  little  command  of  myself,  so  little 
respect  for  myself,  as  to  suffer  myself  to  be  vexed.  But  how 
can  one  help  it  ?  Public  opinion  is  the  very  breath  and  life 
of  a  theatre  and  of  every  one  connected  with  it  ;  and  you 
come  to  attach  importance  to  the  most  foolish  expression  of 
opinion  in  the  most  obscure  print." 

"  And  so,  my  dear  friend,  I  have  had  my  grumble  out — • 
and  made  my  confession  too,  for  I  should  not  like  to  let 
every  one  know  how  foolish  I  am  about  those  petty  vexations 
— and  you  will  see  that  I  have  not  forgotten  what  you  said 
to  me,  and  that  further  reflection  and  experience  have  only 
confirmed  it.  But  I  must  warn  you.  Now  that  I  have  vic- 
timized you  to  this  fearful  extent,  and  liberated  my  mind,  I 
feel  much  more  comfortable.  As  I  write,  there  is  a  blue 
color  coming  into  the  window  that  tells  me  the  new  day  is 
coming.  Would  it  surprise  you  if  the  new  day  brought  a  com- 
plete new  set  of  feelings  ?  I  have  begun  to  doubt  whether  I 
have  got  any  opinions — whether,  having  to  be  so  many  dif- 
ferent people  in  the  course  of  a  week,  I  have  any  clear  notion 
as  to  what  I  myself  am.  One  thing  is  certain,  that  I  have 
been  greatly  vexed  and  worried  of  late  by  a  succession  of  the 
merest  trifles  ;  and  when  I  got  your  kind  letter  and  present 
this  evening,  I  suddenly  thought,  Now  for  a  complete  con- 
fession and  protest.  I  know  you  will  forgive  me  for  having 
victimized  you,  and  that  as  soon  as  you  have  thrown  this 
rambling  epistle  into  the  fire  you  will  try  to  forget  all  the 
nonsense  it  contains  and  will  believe  that  I  hope  always  to 
remain  your  friend, 

"  Gertrude  White." 

His  quick  and  warm  sympathy  refused  to  believe  the  half 
of  this  letter.     It  was  only  because  she  knew  what  was  owing 


144  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

to  the  honor  and  selt-respect  of  a  true  woman  that  she  spoke 
in  this  tone  of  bitter  and  scornful  depreciation  of  herself.  It 
was  clear  that  she  was  longing  for  the  dignity  and  indepen- 
dence of  a  more  natural  way  of  life.  And  this  revelation — 
that  she  was  not,  after  all,  banished  forever  into  that  cold 
region  of  art  in  which  her  father  would  fain  keep  her — some- 
what bewildered  him  at  first.  The  victim  might  be  reclaimed 
from  the  altar  and  restored  to  the  sphere  of  simple  human 
affections,  natural  duties,  and  joy  .-'     And  if  he — 

Suddenly,  and  with  a  shock  of  delight  that  made  his  heart 
throb,  he  tried  to  picture  this  beautiful  fair  creature  sitting 
over  there  in  that  very  chair  by  the  side  of  the  fire,  her  head 
bent  down  over  her  sewing,  the  warm  light  of  the  lamp  touch- 
ing the  tender  curve  of  her  cheek.  And  when  she  lifted  her 
head  to  speak  to  him — and  when  her  large  and  lambent  eyes 
met  his — surely  Fionaghal,  the  fair  poetess  from  strange  lands, 
never  spoke  in  softer  tones  than  this  other  beautiful  stranger, 
who  was  now  his  wife  and  his  heart's  companion.  And  now 
he  would  bid  her  lay  aside  her  work,  and  he  would  get  a 
white  shawl  for  her,  and  like  a  ghost  she  would  steal  out  with 
him  into  the  moonlight  air.  And  is  there  enough  wind  on 
this  summer  night  to  take  them  out  from  the  sombre  shore 
to  the  open  plain  of  the  sea  ?  Look  now,  as  the  land  re- 
cedes, at  the  high  walls  of  Castle  Dare,  over  the  black  cliffs, 
and  against  the  stars.  Far  away  they  see  the  graveyard  of 
Inch  Kenneth,  the  stones  pale  in  the  moonlight.  And  what 
song  will  she  sing  now,  that  Ulva  and  Colonsay  may  awake 
and  fancy  that  some  mermaiden  is  singing  to  bewail  her  lost 
lover  ?  The  night  is  sad,  and  the  song  is  sad ;  and  then, 
somehow,  he  finds  himself  alone  in  this  waste  of  water,  and 
all  the  shores  of  the  islands  are  silent  and  devoid  of  life,  and 
there  is  only  the  echo  of  the  sad  singing  in  his  ears — 

He  jumps  to  his  feet,  for  there  is  a  knocking  at  the  door. 
The  gentle  Cousin  Janet  enters,  and  hastily  he  thrusts  that 
letter  into  his  pocket,  while  his  face  blushes  hotly. 

"Where  have  you  been,  Keith?"  she  says,  in  her  quiet, 
kindly  way.  "  Auntie  would  like  to  say  good-night  to  you 
now." 

"  I  will  come  directly,"  said  he. 

"  And  now  that  Norman  Ogilvie  is  away,  Keith,"  said 
she,  "  you  will  take  more  rest  about  the  shooting ;  for  you 
have  not  been  looking  like  yourself  at  all  lately ;  and  you 
know,  Keith,  when  you  are  not  well  and  happy,  it  is  no  one 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  143 

at  all  about  Dare  that  is  happy  either.  And  that  is  why  you 
will  take  care  of  yourself." 

He  glanced  at  her  rather  uneasily ;  but  he  said,  in  a  light 
and  careless  way, — 

"  Oh,  I  have  been  well  enough,  Janet,  except  that  I  was 
not  sleeping  well  one  or  two  nights.  And  if  you  look  after 
me  like  that,  you  will  make  me  think  I  am  a  baby,  and  you 
will  send  me  some  warm  flannels  when  I  go  up  on  the  hills." 

"  It  is  too  proud  of  your  hardihood  you  are,  Keith,"  said 
his  cousin,  with  a  smi>e.  "  But  there  never  was  a  man  of 
your  family  who  would  take  any  advice." 

"I  would  take  any  advice  from  you,  Janet,"  said  he  ;  and 
therewith  he  followed  her  to  bid  good-night  to  the  silver- 
haired  mother. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A   RESOLVE. 

He  slept  but  little  that  night,  and  early  the  next  morning 
he  was  up  and  away  by  himself — paying  but  little  heed  to 
the  rushing  blue  seas,  and  the  white  gulls,  and  the  sunshine 
touching  the  far  sands  on  the  shores  of  lona.  He  was  in  a 
fever  of  unrest.  He  knew  not  what  to  make  of  that  letter  ; 
it  might  mean  anything  or  nothing.  Alternations  of  wild 
hope  and  cold  despair  succeeded  each  other.  Surely  it  was 
unusual  for  a  girl  so  to  reveal  her  innermost  confidences  to 
any  one  whom  she  considered  a  stranger  ?  To  him  alone 
had  she  told  this  story  of  her  private  troubles.  Was  it  not 
in  effect  asking  for  a  sympathy  which  she  could  not  hope  for 
from  any  other  ?  Was  it  not  establishing  a  certain  secret 
between  them  ?  Her  own  father  did  not  know.  Her  sister 
was  too  young  to  be  told.  Friends  like  Mrs.  Ross  could  not 
understand  why  this  young  and  beautiful  actress,  the  favorite 
of  the  public,  could  be  dissatisfied  with  her  lot.  It  was  to 
him  alone  she  had  appealed. 

And  then  again  he  read  the  letter.  The  very  frankness 
of  it  made  him  fear.  There  was  none  of  the  shyness  of  a 
girl  writing  to  one  who  might  be  her  lover.  She  might  have 
written  thus  to  one  of  her  school-companions.     He  eagerly 


146  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

searched  it  for  some  phrase  of  tenderer  meaning ;  but  no 
there  was  a  careless  abandonment  about  it,  as  if  she  had 
been  talking  without  thinking  of  the  person  she  addressed. 
She  had  even  joked  about  a  young  man  falling  in  love  with 
her.  It  was  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference  to  her.  It  was 
ludicrous  as  the  shape  of  the  lad's  collar  was  ludicrous,  but 
of  no  more  importance.  And  thus  she  receded  from  his  im- 
agination again,  and  became  a  thing  apart — the  white  slave 
bound  in  those  cruel  chains  that  seemed  to  all  but  herself 
and  him  the  badges  of  triumph. 

Herself  a7td him — the  conjunction  set  his  heart  throbbing 
quickly.  He  eagerly  bethought  himself  how  this  secret 
understanding  could  be  strengthened,  if  only  he  might  see 
her  and  speak  to  her.  He  could  tell  by  her  eyes  what  she 
meant,  whatever  her  words  might  be.  If  only  he  could  see  her 
again :  all  his  wild  hopes,  and  fears,  and  doubts — all  his 
vague  fancies  and  imaginings — began  to  narrow  themselves 
down  to  this  one  point ;  and  this  immediate  desire  became 
all-consuming.  He  grew  sick  at  heart  when  he  looked  round 
and  considered  how  vain  was  the  wish. 

The  gladness  had  gone  from  the  face  of  Keith  Macleod. 
Not  many  months  before,  any  one  would  have  imagined  that 
the  life  of  this  handsome  young  fellow,  whose  strength,  and 
courage,  and  high  spirits  seemed  to  render  him  insensible  to 
any  obstacle,  had  everything  in  it  that  the  mind  of  man  could 
desire.  He  had  a  hundred  interests  and  activities ;  he  had 
youth  and  health,  and  a  comely  presence  ;  he  was  on  good 
terms  with  everybody  around  him — for  he  had  a  smile  and  a 
cheerful  word  for  each  one  he  met,  gentle  or  simple.  All 
this  gay,  glad  life  seemed  to  have  fled.  The  watchful  Ham- 
ish  was  the  first  to  notice  that  his  master  began  to  take  less 
and  less  interest  in  the  shooting  and  boating  and  fishing ; 
and  at  times  the  old  man  was  surprised  and  disturbed  by  an 
exhibition  of  querulous  impatience  that  had  certainly  never 
before  been  one  of  Macleod's  failings.  Then  his  cousin  Janet 
saw  that  he  was  silent  and  absorbed  ;  and  his  mother  in- 
quired once  or  twice  why  he  did  not  ask  one  or  other  of  his 
neighbors  to  come  over  to  Dare  to  have  a  day's  shooting  with 
him. 

"  I  think  you  are  finding  the  place  lonely,  Keith,  now 
that  Norman  Ogilvie  is  gone,"  said  she. 

"Ah,  mother,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh,  "it  is  not  Norman 
Ogilvie,  it  is  London,  that  has  poisoned  my  mind.  I  should 
never  have  gone  to  the  South.     I  am  hungering  for  the  fiesh- 


TtrACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


147 


pots  of  Egypt  already  ;  and  I  am  afraid  some  day  I  v\  ill  have 
to  come  and  ask  you  to  let  me  go  away  again." 

He  spoke  jestingly,  and  yet  he  was  regarding  his  mother. 

"  I  know  it  is  not  pleasant  for  a  young  man  to  be  kept 
fretting  at  home,"  said  she.  "  But  it  is  not  long  now  I  will 
ask  you  to  do  that,  Keith." 

Of  course  this  brief  speech  only  drove  him  into  more 
vigorous  demonstration  that  he  was  not  fretting  at  all ;  and 
for  a  time  he  seemed  more  engrossed  than  ever  in  all  the  oc- 
cupations he  had  but  recently  abandoned.  But  whether  he 
v/as  on  the  hillside,  or  down  in  the  glen,  or  out  among  the 
islands,  or  whether  he  was  trying  to  satisfy  the  hunger  of 
his  heart  with  books  long  after  every  one  in  Castle  Dare  had 
gone  to  bed,  he  could  not  escape  from  this  gnawing  and 
torturing  anxiety.  It  was  no  beautiful  and  gentle  sentiment 
that  possessed  him — a  pretty  thing  to  dream  about  during  a 
summer's  morning — but,  on  the  contrary,  a  burning  fever  of 
unrest,  that  left  him  peace  nor  day  nor  night.  "  Sudden  love 
is  followed  by  sudden  hate,"  says  the  Gaelic  proverb  ;  but 
there  had  been  no  suddenness  at  all  about  this  passion  that 
had  stealthily  got  hold  of  him  ;  and  he  had  ceased  even  to 
hope  that  it  might  abate  or  depart  altogether.  He  had  to 
"dree  his  weird."  And  when  he  read  in  books  about  the 
joy  and  delight  that  accompany  the  awakening  of  love — how 
the  world  suddenly  becomes  fair,  and  the  very  skies  are 
bluer  than  their  wont — he  wondered  whether  he  was  different 
from  other  human  beings.  The  joy  and  delight  of  love  ? 
He  knew  only  a  sick  hunger  of  the  heart  and  a  continual 
and  brooding  despair. 

One  morning  he  was  going  along  the  cliffs,  his  only  com- 
panion being  the  old  black  retriever,  when  suddenly  he  saw, 
far  away  below  him,  the  figure  of  a  lady.  For  a  second  his 
heart  stood  still  at  the  sight  of  this  stranger ;  for  he  knew  it 
was  neither  the  mother  nor  Janet ;  and  she  was  coming 
along  a  bit  of  greensward  from  which,  by  dint  of  much 
climbing,  she  might  have  reached  Castle  Dare.  But  as  he 
watched  her  he  caught  sight  of  some  other  figures,  farther 
below  on  the  rocks.  And  then  he  perceived — as  he  saw  her 
return  with  a  handful  of  bell-heather — that  this  party  had 
come  from  lona,  or  Bunessan,  or  some  such  place,  to  explore 
one  of  the  great  caves  on  this  coast,  while  this  lady  had  wan- 
dered away  from  them  in  search  of  some  wild  flowers.  By 
and  by  he  saw  the  small  boat,  with  its  spritsail  white  in  the 


148  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

sun,  go  away  toward  the  south,  and  the  lonely  coast  was  left 
as  lonely  as  before. 

But  ever  after  that  he  grew  to  wonder  what  Gertrude 
White,  if  ever  she  could  be  persuaded  to  visit  his  home, 
would  think  of  this  thing  and  of  that  thing — what  flowers 
she  would  gather — whether  she  would  listen  to  HamisLs 
stories  of  the  fairies — whether  she  would  be  interested  in  her 
small  countryman,  Johnny  Wickes,  who  was  now  in  kilts, 
with  his  face  and  legs  as  brown  as  a  berry — whether  the 
favorable  heavens'v/ould  send  her  sunlight  and  blue  skies, 
and  the  moonlight  nights  reveal  to  her  the  solemn  glory  of 
the  sea  and  the  lonely  islands.  Would  she  take  his  hand  to 
steady  herself  in  passing  over  the  slippery  rocks  ?  What 
would  she  say  if  suddenly  she  saw  above  her — by  the  open- 
ing of  a  cloud — a  stag  standing  high  on  a  crag  near  the  sum- 
mit of  Ben-an-Sloich  1  And  what  would  the  mother  and 
Janet  say  to  that  singing  of  hers,  if  they  were  to  hear  her  put 
all  the  tenderness  of  the  low,  sweet  voice  into  "  Wae's  me 
for  Prince  Charlie  ?  " 

There  was  one  secret  nook  that  more  than  any  other  he 
associated  with  her  presence  ;  and  thither  he  would  go  when 
this  heart-sickness  seemed  too  grievous  to  be  borne.  It 
was  down  in  a  glen  beyond  the  fir-wood ;  and  here  the  or- 
dinary desolation  of  this  bleak  coast  ceased,  for  there  were 
plenty  of  young  larches  on  the  sides  of  the  glen,  with  a  tall 
silver-birch  or  two ;  while  down  in  the  hollow  there  were 
clumps  of  alders  by  the  side  of  the  brawling  stream.  And 
this  dell  that  he  sought  was  hidden  away  from  sight,  with 
the  sun  but  partially  breaking  through  the  alders  and  rowans, 
and  bespeckling  the  great  gray  boulders  by  the  side  of  the 
burn,  many  of  which  were  covered  by  the  softest  of  olive- 
green  moss.  Here,  too,  the  brook,  that  had  been  broken 
just  above  by  intercepting  stones,  swept  clearly  and  limpidly 
over  a  bed  of  smooth  rock  ;  and  in  the  golden-brown  water 
the  trout  lay,  and  scarcely  moved  until  some  motion  of  his 
hand  made  them  shoot  up  stream  with  a  lightning  speed. 
And  then  the  wild  flowers  around — the  purple  ling  and  red 
bell-heather  growing  on  the  silver-gray  rocks  ;  a  foxglove  or 
two  towering  high  above  the  golden-green  breckans  ;  the  red 
star  of  a  crane's-bill  among  the  velvet  moss.  Even  if  she 
were  overawed  by  the  solitariness  of  the  Atlantic  and  the 
gloom  of  the  tall  cliffs  and  their  yawning  caves,  surely  here 
would  be  a  haven  of  peace  and  rest,  with  sunshine,  and 
flowers,  and  the  pleasant  murmur  of  the  stream.     What  did 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  14^ 

it  say,  then,  as  one  sat  and  listened  in  the  silence  ?  When 
the  fair  poetess  from  strange  lands  came  among  the  Mac- 
leods,  did  she  seek  out  this  still  retreat,  and  listen,  and  listen, 
and  listen  until  she  caught  the  music  of  this  monotonous  mur- 
mur, and  sang  it  to  her  harp  ?  And  was  it  not  all  a  song  about 
the  passing  away  of  life,  and  how  that  summer  days  were  for 
the  young,  and  how  the  world  was  beautiful  for  lovers  ?  "  Oh, 
children  !  "  it  seemed  to  say,  "  why  should  you  waste  your 
lives  in  vain  endeavor,  while  the  winter  is  coming  quick,  and 
the  black  snowstorms,  and  a  roaring  of  wind  from  the  sea  ? 
Here  I  have  flowers  for  you,  and  beautiful  sunlight,  and  the 
peace  of  summer  days.  Time  passes — time  passes — time 
passes — and  you  are  growing  old.  While  as  yet  the  heart  is 
warm  and  the  eye  is  bright,  here  are  summer  flowers  for  you, 
and  a  silence  fit  for  the  mingling  of  lovers'  speech.  If  you 
listen  not,  I  laugh  at  you  and  go  my  way.  But  the  winter  is 
coming  fast." 

Far  away  in  these  grimy  towns,  fighting  with  mean  cares 
and  petty  jealousies,  dissatisfied,  despondent,  careless  as  to 
the  future,  how  could  this  message  reach  her  to  fill  her  heart 
with  the  singing  of  a  bird  ?  He  dared  not  send  it,  at  all 
events.  But  he  wrote  to  her.  And  the  bitter  travail  of  the 
writing  of  that  letter  he  long  remembered.  He  was  bound 
to  give  her  his  sympathy,  and  to  make  light  as  well  as  he 
could  of  those  very  evils  which  he  had  been  the  first  to  re- 
veal to  her.  He  tried  to  write  in  as  frank  and  friendly  a 
spirit  as  she  had  done  ;  the  letter  was  quite  cheerful. 

"  Did  you  know,"  said  he,  "  that  once  upon  a  time  the 
chief  of  the  Macleods  married  a  fairy  ?  And  whether  Mac- 
leod  did  not  treat  her  well,  or  v/hether  the  fairy-folk  reclaimed 
her,  or  whether  she  grew  tired  of  the  place,  I  do  not  know 
quite  ;  but,  at  all  events,  they  were  separated,  and  she  went 
away  to  her  own  people.  But  before  she  went  away  she  gave 
to  Macleod  a  fairy  banner — the  Bratach  sith  it  is  known  as 
■ — and  she  told  him  that  if  ever  he  was  in  great  peril,  or  had 
any  great  desire,  he  was  to  wave  that  flag,  and  whatever  he 
desired  would  come  to  pass.  But  the  virtue  of  the  Bratach 
sith  would  depart  after  it  had  been  waved  three  times.  Now 
the  small  green  banner  has  been  waved  only  twice  ;  and  now 
I  believe  it  is  still  preserved  in  the  Castle  of  Dunvegan, 
with  power  to  work  one  more  miracle  on  behalf  of  the  Mac- 
leods. And  if  I  had  the  fairy  flag,  do  you  know  what  I 
would  do  with  it  ?  I  would  take  it  in  my  hand,  and  say  :  '  / 
desire  the  fairy  people  to  remove  my  friend  Gertrude  White  from 


150  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

all  the  evil  infliie7ices  that  disturb  and  distress  her.  I  desire 
them  to  heal  her  wounded  spirit^  and  secure  for  her  evefything 
that  may  tend  to  her  hfe-lciig  happi?iess.  And  I  desire  that  all 
the  theatres  in  the  kingdom  of  Great  Britaui  and  Ireland — ivith 
all  their  musical  instrume?its,  lime-light,  and  painted  scenes — 
may  be  taken  and  dropped  into  the  ocean,  midway  between  the  is- 
lands of  Ulva  and  Coll,  so  that  the  fairy  folk  may  amuse  them 
selves  in  them  if  they  will  so  please.''  Would  not  that  be  a  very 
nice  form  of  incantation  ?  We  are  very  strong  believers 
here  in  the  power  of  one  person  to  damage  another  in  ab- 
sence ;  and  when  you  can  kill  a  man  by  sticking  pins  into  a 
waxen  image  of  him — which  everybody  knows  to  be  true — 
surely  you  ought  to  be  able  to  help  a  friend,  especially  with 
the  aid  of  the  Bratach  sith.  Imagine  Covent  Garden  Theatre 
a  hundred  fathoms  down  in  the  deep  sea,  with  mermaidens 
playing  the  brass  instruments  in  the  orchestra,  and  the  fairy- 
folk  on  the  stage,  and  seals  disporting  themselves  in  the 
stalls,  and  guillemots  shooting  about  the  upper  galleries  in 
pursuit  of  fish.  But  we  should  get  no  peace  from  lona.  The 
fairies  there  are  very  pious  people.  They  used  to  carry  St. 
Colnmba  about  when  he  got  tired.  They  would  be  sure  to 
demand  the  shutting  up  of  all  the  theaties,  and  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  brass  instruments.  And  I  don't  see  how  we  could 
reasonably  object." 

It  was  a  cruel  sort  of  jesting ;  but  how  otherwise  than  as 
a  jest  could  he  convey  to  her,  an  actress,  his  wish  that  all 
theatres  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  ?  For  a  brief  time 
that  letter  seemed  to  establish  some  link  of  communication 
between  him  and  her.  He  followed  it  on  its  travels  by  sea 
and  land.  He  thought  of  its  reaching  the  house  in  which 
she  dwelt — perhaps  some  plain  and  grimy  building  in  a  great 
manufacturing  city,  or  perhaps  a  small  quiet  cottage  up  by 
Regent's  Park  half  hidden  among  the  golden  leaves  of 
October.  Might  she  not,  moreover,  after  she  had  opened  it 
and  read  it,  be  moved  by  some  passing  whim  to  answer  it, 
though  it  demanded  no  answer  ?  He  waited  for  a  week,  and 
there  was  no  word  or  message  from  the  South.  She  was  far 
away,  and  silent.  And  the  hills  grew  lonelier  than  before^ 
and  the  sickness  of  his  heart  increased. 

This  state  of  mind  could  not  last.  His  longing  and  im- 
patience and  unrest  became  more  than  he  conld  bear.  It 
was  in  vain  that  he  tried  to  satisfy  his  imaginative  craving 
with  these  idle  visions  of  her  :  it  was  she  herself  he  must  see; 
and  he  set  about  devising  all  manner  of  wild  excuses  for  one 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  i^l 

last  visit  to  the  South.  But  the  more  he  considered  these 
various  projects,  the  more  ashamed  he  grew  in  thinking  of 
his  taking  any  one  of  them  and  placing  it  before  the  beauti- 
ful old  dame  who  reigned  in  Castle  Dare.  He  had  barely- 
been  three  months  at  home  :  how  could  he  explain  to  her 
this  sudden  desire  to  go  away  again  ? 

One  morning  his  cousin  Janet  came  to  him.  I 

"  Oh,  Keith  !  "  said  she,  "  the  whole  house  is  in  commo- 
tion ;  and  Hamish  is  for  murdering  some  of  the  lads  ;  and 
there  is  no  one  would  dare  to  bring  the  news  to  you.  The 
two  young  buzzards  have  escaped  !  " 

"  I  know  it,"  he  said.     "  I  let  them  out  myself." 

"  You  !  "  she  exclaimed  in  surprise  ;  for  she  knew  the 
great  interest  he  had  shown  in  watching  the  habits  of  the 
young  hawks  that  had  been  captured  by  a  shepherd  lad. 

"  Yes  ;  I  let  them  out  last  night.  It  was  a  pity  to  have 
them  caged  up." 

"  So  long  as  it  was  yourself,  it  is  all  right,"  she  said  ;  and 
then  she  was  going  away.  But  she  paused  and  turned,  and 
said  to  him,  with  a  smile,  "  And  I  think  you  should  let  your- 
self escape,  too,  Keith,  for  it  is  you  too  that  are  caged  up ; 
and  perhaps  you  feel  it  now  more  since  you  have  been  to 
London.  And  if  you  are  thinktng  of  your  friends  in  London, 
why  should  you  not  go  for  another  visit  to  the  South  before 
you  settle  down  to  the  long  winter  ?  " 

For  an  instant  he  regarded  her  with  some  fear.  Had  she 
guessed  his  secret }  Had  she  been  watching  the  outward 
signs  of  this  constant  torture  he  had  been  suffering  ?  Had 
she  surmised  that  the  otter-skins  about  which  he  had  asked 
her  advice  were  not  consigned  to  any  one  of  the  married  la- 
dies whose  acquaintance  he  had  made  in  the  South,  and  of 
whom  he  had  chatted  freely  enough  in  Castle  Dare  .?  Or  v/as 
this  merely  a  passing  suggestion  thrown  out  by  one  who  was 
always  on  the  lookout  to  do  a  kindness  ? 

"Well,  T  would  like  to  go,  Janet,"  he  said,  but  wdth  no 
gladness  in  his  voice  ;  "  and  it  is  not  more  than  a  week  or  twc 
I  should  like  to  be  away;  but  I  do  not  think  the  mother 
would  like  it ;  and  it  is  enough  money  I  have  spent  this  year 
already " 

"  There  is  no  concern  about  the  money,  Keith,"  said  she, 
simply,  "  since  you  have  not  touched  what  I  gave  you.  And 
if  you  are  set  upon  it,  you  know  auntie  will  agree  to  whatever 
you  wish." 


152  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"  But  how  can  I  explain  to  her  ?  It  is  unreasonable  to  be 
going  away." 

How,  indeed,  could  he  explain  ?  He  was  almost  assum- 
ing that  those  gentle  eyes  now  fixed  on  him  could  read  his 
heart,  and  that  she  would  come  to  aid  him  in  his  suffering 
without  any  further  speeth  from  him.  And  that  was  pre- 
cisely what  Janet  Macleod  did — whether  or  not  she  had 
guessed  the  cause  of  his  desire  to  get  away. 

"  If  you  were  a  schoolboy,  Keith,  you  would  be  cleverer 
at  making  an  excuse  for  playing  truant,"  she  said,  laughing. 
"  And  I  could  make  one  for  you  now." 

"  You  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  call  it  an  excuse,  Keith,"  she  said,  "  because 
I  think  you  would  be  doing  a  good  work  ;  and  I  will  bear  the 
expense  of  it,  if  you  please." 

He  looked  more  puzzled  than  ever. 

"  When  we  were  at  Salen  yesterday  I  saw  Major  Stuart, 
and  he  has  just  came  back  from  Dunrobin.  And  he  was  say- 
ing very  great  things  about  the  machine  for  the  drying  of 
crops  in  wet  weather,  and  he  said  he  would  like  to  go  to 
England  to  see  the  newer  ones  and  all  the  later  improve- 
ments, if  these  was  a  chance  of  any  one  about  here  going 
shares  with  them.  And  it  would  not  be  very  much.  Keith,  if 
you  were  to  share  with  him  ;  and  the  machine  it  can  be  moved 
about  very  well ;  and  in  the  bad  weather  you  could  give  the 
cotters  some  help,  to  say  nothing  about  our  own  hay  and  corn. 
And  that  is  what  Major  Stuart  was  saying  yesterday,  that  if 
there  was  any  place  that  you  wanted  a  drying-machine  for 
the  crops  it  was  in  Mull." 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  it  myself,"  he  said,  absently, 
"  but  our  farm  is  too  small  to  make  it  pay '^ 

"  But  if  Major  Stuart  will  take  half  the  expense  ?  And 
even  if  you  lost  a  little,  Keith,  you  would  save  a  great  deal 
to  the  poorer  people  who  are  continually  losing  their  little 
patches  of  crops.  And  will  you  go  and  be  my  agent,  Keith, 
to  go  and  see  whether  it  is  practicable  ?  " 

"  They  will  not  thank  you,  Janet,  for  letting  them  have 
this  help  for  nothing." 

"  They  shall  not  have  it  for  nothing,"  said  she — for  she 
had  plenty  of  experience  in  dealing  with  the  poorer  folk 
around — "  they  must  pay  for  the  fuel  that  is  used.  And  now. 
Keith,  if  it  is  a  holiday  you  want,  will  not  that  be  a  very  good 
holiday,  and  one  to  be  used  for  a  very  good  purpose,  too  ?  " 

She  left  him.     Where  was  the  eager  joy  with  which  he 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  1^3 

ought  to  have  accepted  this  offer  ?  Here  was  the  very  means 
placed  within  his  reach  of  satisfying  the  craving  desire  of  his 
heart ;  and  yet,  all  the  same,  he  seemed  to  shrink  back  with 
a  vague  and  undefined  dread.  A  thousand  impalpable  fears 
■  and  doubts  beset  his  mind.  He  had  grown  timid  as  a  woman. 
The  old  happy  audacity  had  been  destroyed  by  sleepless 
nights  and  a  torturing  anxiety.  It  was  a  new  thing  for  Keith 
Macleod  to  have  become  a  prey  to  strange  unintelligible  fore- 
bodings. 

But  he  went  and  saw  Major  Stuart — a  round,  red,  jolly 
little  man,  with  white  hair  and  a  cheerful  smile,  who  had  a 
sombre  and  melancholy  wife.  Major  Stuart  received  Mac- 
leod's  offer  with  great  gravity.  It  was  a  matter  of  business 
that  demanded  serious  consideration.  He  had  worked  out 
the  whole  system  of  drying  crops  with  hot  air  as  it  was  shown 
him.  in  pamphlets,  reports,  and  agricultural  journals,  and  he 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that — on  paper  at  least — it  could 
be  made  to  pay.  What  was  wanted  was  to  give  the  thing  a 
practical  trial.  If  the  system  was  sound,  surely  any  one  who 
helped  to  introduce  it  into  the  Western  Highlands  was  doing 
a  very  good  work  indeed.  And  there  was  nothing  but  per- 
sonal inspection  could  decide  on  the  various  merits  of  latest 
improvements. 

This  was  what  he  said  before  his  wife  one  night  at  dinner. 
But  when  the  ladies  had  left  the  room,  the  little  stout  major 
suddenly  put  up  both  his  hands,  snapped  his  thumb  and 
middle  finger,  and  very  cleverly  executed  one  or  two  reel 
steps. 

"  By  George  !  my  boy,"  said  he,  with  a  ferocious  grin  on 
his  face,  "  I  think  we  will  have  a  little  frolic— a  little  frolic ! 
— a  little  frolic  !  You  were  never  shut  up  in  a  house  for  six 
months  with  a  woman  like  my  wife,  were  you,  Macleod  ? 
You  were  never  reminded  of  your  coffin  every  morning,  were 
you  ?  Macleod,  my  boy,  I  am  just  mad  to  get  after  those 
drying-machines  ! " 

And  indeed  Macleod  could  not  have  had  a  merrier  com- 
panion to  go  South  with  him  than  this  rubicund  major  just 
escaped  from  the  thraldom  of  his  wife.  But  it  was  with  no 
such  high  spirits  that  Macleod  set  out.  Perhaps  it  was  only 
the  want  of  sleep  that  had  rendered  him  nerveless  and 
morbid  ;  but  he  felt,  as  he  left  Castle  Dare,  that  there  was  a 
lie  in  his  actions,  if  not  in  his  words.  And  as  for  the  future 
that  lay  before  him,  it  was  a  region  only  of  doubt,  and  vague 


154 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


regrets,  and  unknown  fears  ;  and  he  was  entering  upon  it 
without  any  glimpse  of  light,  and  without  the  guidance  of 
any  friendly  hand. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

OTTER-SKINS. 

"  Ah,  pappy,"  said  Miss  Gertrude  White  to  her  father — 
and  she  pretended  to  sigh  as  she  spoke — "  this  is  a  change 
indeed !  " 

They  were  driving  up  to  the  gate  of  the  small  cottage  in 
South  Bank.  It  was  the  end  of  October.  In  the  gardens 
they  passed  the  trees  were  almost  bare  ;  though  such  leaves 
as  hung  sparsely  on  the  branches  of  the  chestnuts  and  maples 
were  ablaze  with  russet  and  gold  in  the  misty  sunshine. 

"  In  another  week,"  she  continued,  "  there  will  not  be  a 
leaf  left.  I  dare  say  there  is  not  a  single  geranium  in  the 
garden.     All  hands  on  deck  to  pipe  a  farewell : 

*  Ihr  Matten,  leht  wohl, 
Ihr  sonnigen  Weiden 
Per  Senne  muss  scheiden, 
Der  Sommer  ist  hin.' 

Farewell  to  the  blue  mountains  of  Newcastle,  and  the  sunlit 
valleys  of  Liverpool,  and  the  silver  waterfalls  of  Leeds  ;  the 
summer  is  indeed  over ;  and  a  very  nice  and  pleasant  sum- 
mer we  have  had  of  it." 

The  flavor  of  sarcasm  running  through  this  affected  sad- 
ness vexed  Mr.  White,  and  he  answered,  sharply, 

"  I  think  you  have  little  reason  to  grumble  over  a  tour 
which  has  so  distinctly  added  to  your  reputation." 

"  I  was  not  aware,"  said  she,  wdth  a  certain  careless  sauci- 
ness  of  manner,  "  that  an  actress  was  allowed  to  have  a 
reputation ;  at  least,  there  are  always  plenty  of  people 
anxious  enough  to  take  it  away." 

"  Gertrude,"  said  he,  sternly,  "  what  do  you  mean  by 
this  constant  carping  ?  Do  you  wish  to  cease  to  be  an 
actress  ?  or  what  in  all  the  world  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  To  cease  to  be  an  actress  "i  "  she  said,  with  a  mild  won 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE 


55 


der,  and  with  the  sweetest  of  smiles,  as  she  prepared  to  get 
out  of  the  open  door  of  the  cab.  "  Why,  don't  you  know  ; 
pappy,  that  a  leopard  cannot  change  his  spots,  or  an  Etheopian 
his  skin  ?  Take  care  of  the  step,  pappy  !  That's  right.  Come 
here,  Marie,  and  give  the  cabman  a  hand  with  this  portman- 
teau." 

Miss  White  was  not  grumbling  at  all — but,  on  the  con- 
trary, was  quite  pleasant  and  cheerful — when  she  entered  the 
small  house  and  found  herself  once  more  at  home. 

"  Oh,  Carry,"  she  said,  when  her  sister  followed  her  into 
her  room;  "  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  get  back  home,  after 
having  been  bandied  from  one  hotel  to  another  hotel,  and 
from  one  lodging-house  to  another  lodging-house,  for  good- 
ness knows  how  long." 

"  Oh,  indeed ! "  said  Miss  Carry,  with  such  marked  cold- 
ness that  her  sister  turned  to  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

*'  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  the  younger  sister  re- 
torted, with  sudden  fire.  "  Do  you  know  that  your  letters  to 
me  have  been  quite  disgra,ceful  ?  " 

"You  are  crazed,  child — you  wrote  something  about  it 
the  other  day — I  could  not  make  out  what  you  meant,"  said 
Miss  White  ;  and  she  went  to  the  glass  to  see  that  the  beau- 
tiful brown  hair  had  not  been  too  much  disarranged  by  the 
removal  of  her  bonnet. 

"  It  is  you  are  crazed,  Gertrude  White,"  said  Carry,  who 
had  apparently  picked  up  from  some  melodrama  the  notion 
that  it  was  rather  effective  to  address  a  person  by  her  full 
name.  "  I  am  really  ashamed  of  you — that  you  should  have 
let  yourself  be  bewitched  by  a  parcel  of  beasts'  skins.  I  de- 
clare that  your  ravings  about  the  Highlands,  and  fairies,  and 
trash  of  that  sort,  have  been  only  fit  for  a  penny  journal — " 

Miss  White  turned  and  stared — as  well  she  might.  This 
indignant  person  of  fourteen  had  flashing  eyes  and  a  visage 
of  v/rath.  The  pale,  calm,  elder  sister  only  remarked,  in  that 
deep-toned  and  gentle  voice  of  hers, 

"  Your  language  is  pretty  considerably  strong.  Carry.  I 
don't  know  what  has  aroused  such  a  passion  in  you.  Be- 
cause I  wrote  to  you  about  the  Highlands  "i  Because  I  sent 
you  that  collection  of  legends  ?  Because  it  seemed  to  me, 
when  I  was  in  a  wretched  hotel  in  some  dirty  town,  I  would 
rather  be  away  yachting  or  driving  with  some  one  of  the  va- 
rious parties  of  people  whom  I  know,  and  who  had  mostly 
gone  to  Scotland  this  year  ?     If  you  are  jealous  of  the  High- 


156  MA  CLE  on  OF  DARE. 

lands,  Carry,  I  will  undertake  to  root  out  the  name  of  every 
mountain  and  lake  that  has  got  hold  of  my  affections." 

She  was  turning  away  again,  with  a  quiet  smile  on  her 
face,  wlien  her  younger  sister  arrested  her. 

"What's  that.?"  said  she,  so  sharply,  and  extending  her 
forefinger  so  suddenly,  that  Gertrude  almost  shrank  back. 

"  What's  what  ?  "  she  said,  in  dismay — fearing,  perhaps, 
lO  hear  of  an  adder  being  on  her  shoulder. 

"  You  know  perfectly  well,"  said  Miss  Carry,  vehemently, 
•'  it  is  the  Macleod  tartan  ! " 

Now  the  truth  was  that  Miss  White's  travelling-dress  was 
of  an  unrelieved  gray  ;  the  only  scrap  of  color  about  her  cos- 
tume being  a  tiny  thread  of  tartan  ribbon  that  just  showed  in 
front  of  her  collar. 

"  The  Macleod  tartan  ?  "  said  the  eldest  sister,  demurely. 
"  And  what  if  it  were  the  Macleod  tartan  ?  " 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Gerty  !  There 
w^as  quite  enough  occasion  for  people  to  talk  in  the  way  he 
kept  coming  here  -,  and  now  you  make  a  parade  of  it  ;  you 
ask  people  to  look  at  you  wearing  a  badge  of  servitude — you 
say,  '  Oh,  here  I  am  ;  and  I  am  quite  ready  to  be  your  wife 
when  you  ask  me.  Sir  Keith  Macleod  !" 

There  was  no  flush  of  anger  in  the  fair  and  placid  face  ; 
but  rather  a  look  of  demure  amusement  in  the  downcast  eyes. 

"  Dear  me.  Carry  !  "  said  she,  with  great  innocence,  "  the 
profession  of  an  actress  must  be  looking  up  in  public  estima- 
tion when  such  a  rumor  as  that  could  even  get  into  exist- 
ence. And  so  people  have  have  been  so  kind  as  to  suggest 
that  Sir  Keith  Macleod,  the  representative  of  one  of  the  oldest 
and  proudest  families  in  the  kingdom,  would  not  be  above 
marrying  a  poor  actress  who  has  her  living  to  earn,  and  who 
is  supported  by  the  half-crowns  and  half-sovereigns  of  the 
public  ?  And  indeed  I  think  it  would  look  very  well  to  have 
him  loitering  about  the  stage-doors  of  provincial  theatres 
until  his  wife  should  be  ready  to  come  out ;  and  would  he 
biing  his  gillies,  and  keepers,  and  head-foresters,  and  put 
ihem  into  the  pit  to  applaud  her  ?  Really,  the  role  you  have 
cut  out  for  a  Highland  gentleman " 

"A  Highland  gentleman  !  "  exclaimed  Carry.  "  A  High- 
land pauper !  But  you  are  quite  right,  Gerty,  to  laugh  at 
the  rumor.  Of  course  it  is  quite  ridiculous.  It  is  quite 
ridiculous  to  think  that  an  actress  whose  fame  is  all  ovei 
England — who  is  sought  after  by  everybody,  and  the  popu 
larest  favorite  ever  seen — would  give   up   everything   and 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  157 

go  away  and  marry  an  ignorant  Highland  savage,  and  look 
after  his  calves  and  his  cows  and  hens  for  him.  That  is  in- 
deed ridiculous,  Gerty." 

"  Very  well,  then,  put  it  out  of  your  mind  ;  and  never  let 
me  hear  another  word  about  it,"  said  the  popularest  favorite, 
as  she  undid  the  bit  of  tartan  ribbon  ;  "  and  if  it  is  any  great 
comfort  to  you  to  know,  this  is  not  the  Macleod  tartan  but 
the  MacDougal  tartan,  and  you  may  put  it  in  the  fire  if  you 
like." 

Saying  which,  she  threw  the  bit  of  costume  which  had 
given  so  great  offence  on  the  table.  The  discomfited  Carry 
looked  at  it,  but  would  not  touch  it.     At  last  she  said, 

"  Where  are  the  skins,  Gerty  ?  " 

"  Near  Castle  Dare,"  answered  Miss  White,  turning  to 
get  something  else  for  her  neck  ;  "  there  is  a  steep  hill,  and 
the  road  comes  over  it.  When  you  climb  to  the  top  of  the 
hill  and  sit  down,  the  fairies  will  carry  you  right  to  the  bot- 
tom if  you  are  in  a  proper  frame  of  mind.  But  they  won't 
appear  at  all  unless  you  are  at  peace  with  all  men.  I  will 
show  you  the  skins  when  you  are  in  a  proper  frame  of  mind, 
Carry." 

"  Who  told  you  that  story  .?  "  she  asked  quickly. 

"  Sir  Keith  Macleod,"  the  elder  sister  said,  without  think- 
ing. 

"  Then  he  has  been  writing  to  you  ? " 

"  Certainly." 

She  marched  out  of  the  room.  Gertrude  White,  uncon- 
scious of  the  fierce  rage  she  had  aroused,  carelessly  pro- 
ceeded with  her  toilet,  trying  now  one  flower  and  now  an- 
other in  the  ripples  of  her  sun-brown  hair,  but  finally  dis- 
carding these  half-withered  things  for  a  narrow  band  of  blue 
velvet. 

*'  Threescore  o'  nobles  rode  up  the  king's  ha'," 

she  was  numming  thoughtlessly  to  herself  as  she  stood  with 
her  hands  uplifted  to  her  head,  revealing  the  beautiful  lines 
of  her  figure, 

"But  Bonnie  Glenogie's  the  flower  o'  them  a'; 
Wi'  his  milk-white  steed  and  his  coal-black  e*e  : 
Glenogie,  dear  mither,  Glenogie  for  me  1 " 

At  length  she  had  finished,  and  was  ready  to  proceed  to  her 
immediate   work   of   overhauling  domestic  affairs.      When 


I5«  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

Keith  Macleod  was  struck  by  the  exceeding  neatness  and 
perfection  of  arrangement  in  this  small  house,  he  was  in 
nowise  the  victim  of  any  stage-effect.  Gertrude  White  was 
at  all  times  and  in  all  seasons  a  precise  and  accurate  house- 
mistress.  Harassed,  as  an  actress  must  often  be,  by  other 
cares ;  sometimes  exhausted  with  hard  work ;  perhaps 
tempted  now  and  again  by  the  self-satisfaction  of  a  splendid 
triumph  to  let  meaner  concerns  go  unheeded  ;  all  the  same, 
she  allov/ed  nothing  to  interfere  with  her  domestic  duties. 

"  Gerty,"  her  father  said,  impatiently,  to  her  a  day  or 
two  before  they  left  London  for  the  provinces,  "what  is  the 
use  of  your  going  down  to  these  stores  yourself  ?  Surely 
you  can  send  Jane  or  Marie.  You  really  waste  far  too  much 
time  over  the  veriest  trifles  :  how  can  it  matter  what  sort  of 
mustard  we  have  ?  " 

"  And,  indeed,  I  am  glad  to  have  something  to  convince 
me  that  I  am  a  human  being  and  a  woman,"  she  had  said, 
instantly,  "  something  to  be  myself  in.  I  believe  Providence 
intended  me  to  be  the  manager  of  a  Swiss  hotel." 

This  was  one  of  the  first  occasions  on  which  she  had  re- 
vealed to  her  father  that  she  had  been  thinking  a  good  deal 
about  her  lot  in  life,  and  was  perhaps  beginning  to  doubt 
whether  the  struggle  to  become  a  great  and  famous  actress 
was  the  only  thing  worth  living  for.  But  he  paid  little  at- 
tention to  it  at  the  time.  He  had  a  vague  impression  that 
it  was  scarcely  worth  discussing  about.  He  was  pretty  well 
convinced  that  his  daughter  was  clever  enough  to  argue  her- 
self into  any  sort  of  belief  about  herself,  if  she  should  take 
some  fantastic  notion  into  her  head.  It  was  not  until  that 
night  in  Manchester  that  he  began  to  fear  there  might  be 
something  serious  in  these  expressions  of  discontent. 

On  this  bright  October  morning  Miss  Gertrude  White 
was  about  to  begin  her  domestic  inquiries,  and  was  leaving 
her  room  humming  cheerfully  to  herself  something  about  the 
bonnie  Glenogie  of  the  song,  when  she  was  again  stopped  by 
her  sister,  who  was  carrying  a  bundle. 

"  I  have  got  the  skins,"  she  said,  gloomily.  "Jane  took 
them  out." 

"  Will  you  look  at  them  ?  "  the  sister  said,  kindly.  "  They 
are  very  pretty.  If  they  were  not  a  present,  I  would  give 
them  to  you,  to  make  a  jacket  of  them." 

"  /  wear  them  ?  "  said  she.     "  Not  likely  !  " 

Nevertheless  she  had  sufficient  womanly  curiosity  to  let 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


159 


her  elder  sister  open  the  parcel ;  and  then  she  took  up  the 
otter-skins  one  by  one,  and  looked  at  them. 

"  I  don't  think  much  of  them,"  she  said. 

The  other  bore  this  taunt  patiently. 

"  They  are  only  big  moles,  aren't  they  ?  And  I  thouglit 
moleskin  was  only  worn  by  working-people." 

"  I  am  a  working-person  too,"  Miss  Gertrude  While 
said  ;  "but,  in  any  case,  I  think  a  jacket  of  these  skins  will 
look  lovely." 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  so  1  Well,  you  can't  say  much  for 
the  smell  of  them." 

"It  is  no  more  disagreeable  than  the  smell  of  a  sealskin 
jacket." 

She  laid  down  the  last  of  the  skins  with  some  air  of  dis- 
dain. 

"  It  will  be  a  nice  series  of  trophies,  anyway — showing 
you  know  some  one  who  goes  about  spending  his  life  in  kill- 
ing inoffensive  aniinals." 

"  Poor  Sir  Keith  Macleod  !  What  has  he  done  to  offend 
you,  Carry  ? " 

Miss  Carry  turned  her  head  away  for  a  minute  ;  but 
presently  she  boldly  faced  her  sister. 

"  Gerty,  you  don't  mean  to  marry  a  beauty  man  ! " 

Gerty  looked  considerably  puzzled ;  but  her  companion 
continued,  vehemently, — 

"  How  often  have  I  heard  you  say  you  would  never  marry 
a  beauty  man — a  man  who  has  been  brought  up  in  front  of 
the  looking-glass — who  is  far  too  well  satisfied  with  his  own 
good  looks  to  think  of  anything  or  anybody  else  !  Again 
and  again  you  have  said  that,  Gertrude  White.  You  told  me, 
rather  than  marry  a  self-satisfied  coxcomb,  you  would  marry 
a  misshapen,  ugly  little  man,  so  that  h«  would  worship  you  all 
the  days  of  your  life  for  your  condescension  and  kindness." 

"  Very  well,  then  !  " 

"  And  what  is  Sir  Keith  Macleod  but  a  beauty  man  ? " 

"  He  is  not ! "  and  for  once  the  elder  sister  betrayed 
some  feeling  in  the  proud  tone  of  her  voice.  "  He  is  the 
manliest-looking  man  that  I  have  ever  seen  ;  and  I  have 
seen  a  good  many  more  men  than  you.  There  is  not  a  man 
you  know  whom  he  could  not  throw  across  the  canal  down 
there.  Sir  Keith  Macleod  a  beauty  man  ! — I  think  he  could 
take  on  a  good  deal  more  polishing,  and  curling,  and  smooth- 
ing without  any  great  harm.  If  I  was  in  any  danger, 
I  know  which  of  all  the  men  I   have  seen  I   would  rather 


l6o  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

have  in  front  of  me — with  his  arms  free ;  and  I  don't 
suppose  he  would  be  thinking  of  any  looking-glass !  If  you 
want  to  know  about  the  race  he  represents,  read  English  his- 
tory, and  the  story  of  England's  wars.  If  you  go  to  India, 
or  China,  or  Africa,  or  the  Crimea,  you  will  hear  something 
about  the  Macleods,  I  think  I " 

Carry  began  to  cry. 

"  You  silly  thing,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  Ger- 
trude White  exclaimed ;  but  of  course  her  arm  was  round 
her  sister's  neck. 

"  It  is  true,  then." 

"  What  is  true  ?  " 

"  What  people  say." 

"  What  do  people  say  ?  " 

"  That  you  will  marry  Sir  Keith  Macleod." 

"Carry!"  she  said,  angrily,  "I  can't  imagine  who  has 
been  repeating  such  idiotic  stories  to  you.  I  wish  people 
would  mind  their  own  business.  Sir  Keith  Macleod  marry 
me  ! " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  he  has  never  asked  you  ?  "  Carry 
said,  disengaging  herself,  and  fixing  her  eyes  on  her  sister's 
face. 

"  Certainly  not !"  was  the  decided  answer ;  but  all  the 
same.  Miss  Gertrude  White's  forehead  and  cheeks  flushed 
slightly. 

"  Then  you  know  that  he  means  to  ;  and  that  is  why  you 
have  been  writing  to  me,  day  after  day,  about  the  romance 
of  the  Highlands,  and  fairy  stories,  and  the  pleasure  of  peo- 
ple who  could  live  without  caring  for  the  public.  Oh,  Gerty, 
why  won't  you  be  frank  with  me,  and  let  me  know  the  worst 
at  once  1 " 

"  If  I  gave  you  a  box  on  the  ears,"  she  said,  laughing, 
"  that  would  be  the  worst  at  once  ;  and  I  think  it  would  serve 
you  right  for  listening  to  such  tittle-tattle  and  letting  your 
head  be  filled  with  nonsense.  Haven't  you  sufficient  sense 
to  know  that  you  ought  not  to  compel  me  to  speak  of  such  a 
thing — absurd  as  it  is  ?  I  cannot  go  on  denying  that  I  am 
about  to  become  the  wife  of  Tom,  Dick,  or  Harry ;  and  you 
know  the  stories  that  have  been  going  about  for  years  past. 
Who  was  I  last  ?  The  wife  of  a  Russian  nobleman  who 
gambled  away  all  my  earnings  at  Homburg.  You  are  four- 
teen now.  Carry ;  you  should  have  more  sense." 

Miss  Carry  dried  her  eyes  ;  but  she  mournfully  shook 
her  head.     There  were  the  otter-skins  lying  en  the  table. 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  l6i 

SLe  had  seen  plenty  of  the  absurd  paragraphs  about  her  sis- 
ter which  good-natured  friends  had  cut  out  of  provincial  and 
foreign  papers  and  forwarded  to  the  small  family  at  South 
Bank.  But  the  mythical  Russian  nobleman  had  never  sent 
a  parcel  o "  otter-skins.  These  v^rere  palpable  and  not  to  be 
explained  away.  She  sorrowfully  left  the  room,  uncon- 
vinced. 

And  now  Miss  Gertrude  White  set  to  work  with  a  will ; 
and  no  one  who  was  only  familiar  with  her  outside  her  own 
house  would  have  recognized  in  this  shifty,  practical,  indus- 
trious person,  who  went  so  thoroughly  into  all  the  details  of 
the  small  establishment,  the  lady  who,  when  she  went  abroad 
among  the  gayeties  of  the  London  season,  was  so  eagerly 
sought  after,  and  flattered,  and  petted,  and  made  the  object 
of  all  manner  of  delicate  attentions.  Her  father,  who  sus- 
pected that  her  increased  devotion  to  these  domestic  duties 
was  but  part  of  that  rebellious  spirit  she  had  recently  be- 
trayed, had  nevertheless  to  confess  that  there  was  no  one  but 
herself  whom  he  could  trust  to  arrange  his  china  and  dust 
his  curiosities.  And  how  could  he  resent  her  giving  instruc- 
tions to  the  cook,  when  it  was  his  own  dinner  that  profited 
thereby  ? 

"  Well,  Gerty,"  he  said  that  evening  after  dinner,  "  what 

do  you  think  about  Mr. 's  offer  ?  It  is  very  good-natured 

of  him  to  let  you  have  the  ordering  of  the  drawing-room 
scene,  for  you  can  have  the  furniture  and  the  color  to  suit 
your  own  costume." 

"  Indeed  I  shall  have  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it," 
said  she,  promptly.  "The  furniture  at  home  is  enough  for 
me.     I  don't  wish  to  become  the  upholsterer  of  a  theatre." 

"You  are  very  ungrateful,  then.  Half  the  effect  of  a 
modern  comedy  is  lost  because  the  people  appear  in  rooms 
which  resemble  nothing  at  all  that  people  ever  lived  in. 
Here  is  a  man  who  gives  you  carte  blanche  to  put  a  modern 
drawing-room  on  the  stage  ;  and  your  part  would  gain  in- 
finitely from  having  real  surroundings.  I  consider  it  a  very 
flattering  offer.*' 

"  And  perhaps  it  is,  pappy,"  said  she,  "  but  I  think  I  do 
enough  if  I  get  through  my  own  share  of  the  work.  And  it 
is  very  silly  of  him  to  want  me  to  introduce  a  song  into  this 
part,  too.     He  knows  I  can't  sing — " 

"'  Gerty  !  "  her  sister  said. 

"  Oh,  you  know  as  well  as  I.  I  can  get  through  a  song 
well  enough  in  a  room  ;  but  I  have  not  enough  voice  for  a 


1 6 2  ^^A  CLEOD  OF  DARE, 

theatre  ;  and  although  he  says  it  is  only  to  make  the  draw« 
ing-room  scene  more  realistic — and  that  I  need  not  sing  to 
the  front — that  is  all  nonsense.  I  know  what  it  is  meant  for 
— to  catch  the  gallery.  Now  I  refuse  to  sing  for  the  gallery." 

This  was  decided  enough. 

"  What  was  the  song  you  put  into  your  last  part,  Gerty  ?  '* 
her  sister  asked.     "  I  saw  something  in  the  papers  about  it." 

"  It  was  a  Scotch  one,  Carry;  I  don't  think  you  know 
it." 

"  I  wonder  it  was  not  a  Highland  one,"  her  sister  said, 
rather  spitefully. 

"  Oh,  I  have  a  whole  collection  of  Highland  ones  now . 
would  you  like  to  hear  one  ?     Would  you,  pappy  ?  " 

She  went  and  fetched  the  book,  and  opened  the  piano. 

*'  It  is  an  old  air  that  belonged  to  Scarba,"  she  said  , 
and  then  she  sang,  simply  and  pathetically  enough,  the  some- 
what stiff  and  cumbrous  English  translation  of  the  Gaelic 
words.  It  was  the  song  of  the  exiled  Mary  Macleod,  who, 
sitting  on  the  shores  of  "  sea-worn  Mull,"  looks  abroad  on 
the  lonely  islands  of  Scarba,  and  Islay,  and  Jura,  and  la- 
ments that  she  is  fax  away  from  her  own  home. 

"  How  do  you  like  it,  pappy  ? "  she  said,  when  she  had 
finished.  "  It  is  a  pity  I  do  not  know  the  Gaelic.  They  say 
that  when  the  chief  heard  these  verses  repeated,  he  let  the 
old  woman  go  back  to  her  own  home." 

One  of  the  two  listeners,  at  all  events,  did  not  seem  to  be 
particularly  struck  by  the  pathos  of  Mary  Macleod's  lament. 
She  walked  up  to  the  piano. 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  book,  Gerty  ?  "  she  said,  in  a 
firm  voice. 

"Where?"  said  the  other,  innocently.  "In  Manchestei, 
I  think  it  was,  I  bought  it." 

But  before  she  had  made  the  explanation,  Miss  Carr), 
convinced  that  this,  too,  had  come  from  her  enemy,  bad 
seized  the  book  and  turned  to  the  title-page.  Neither  on 
title-page  nor  on  fly-leaf,  however,  was  there  any  inscription. 

"  Did  you  think  it  had  come  with  the  otter-skins,  Carry  ?  " 
the  elder  sister  said,  laughing  ;  and  the  younger  one  retired, 
baffled  and  chagrined,  but  none  the  less  resolved  that  before 
Gertrude  White  completely  gave  herself  up  to  this  blind  in- 
fatuation for  a  savage  countr}^  and  for  one  of  its  worthless 
inhabitants,  she  would  have  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  many  z 
sharp  word  of  warning  and  reproach. 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  163 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

IN    LONDON    AGAIN. 

On  through  the  sleeping  counties  rushed  the  train — 
passing  woods,  streams,  fertile  valleys,  and  clustering  villages, 
all  palely  shrouded  in  the  faint  morning  mist  that  had  a  sort 
of  suffused  and  hidden  sunlight  in  it :  the  world  had  not  yet 
awoke.  But  Macleod  knew  that,  ere  he  reached  London 
people  would  be  abroad  ;  and  he  almost  shrank  from  meet- 
ing the  look  of  these  thousands  of  eager  faces.  Would  not 
some  of  them  guess  his  errand  ?  Would  he  not  be  sure  to 
run  against  a  friend  of  hers — an  acquaintance  of  his  own  ? 
It  w^as  with  a  strange  sense  of  fear  that  he  stepped  out  and 
on  to  the  platform  at  Euston  Station  ;  he  glanced  up  and 
down  :  if  she  were  suddenly  to  confront  his  eyes  !  A  day  or 
two  ago  it  seemed  as  if  innumerable  leagues  of  ocean  lay  be- 
tween him  and  her,  so  that  the  heart  grew  sick  with  thinking 
of  the  distance ;  now  that  he  was  in  the  same  town  with  her, 
he  felt  so  close  to  her  that  he  could  almost  hear  her  breathe. 

Major  Stuart  has  enjoyed  a  sound  night's  rest,  and  was 
now  possessed  of  quite  enough  good  spirits  and  loquacity 
for  two.  He  scarcely  observed  the  silence  of  his  companion. 
Together  they  rattled  away  through  this  busy,  eager,  im- 
mense throng,  until  they  got  down  to  the  comparative  quiet 
of  Bury  Street :  and  here  they  were  fortunate  enough  to  find 
not  only  that  Macleod's  old  rooms  were  unoccupied,  but  that 
his  companion  could  have  the  corresponding  chambers  on 
the  floor  above.  They  changed  their  attire  ;  had  breakfast ; 
and  then  proceeded  to  discuss  their  plans  for  the  day. 
Major  Stuart  observed  that  he  was  in  no  hurry  to  investigate 
the  last  modifications  of  the  drying-machines.  It  would  be 
necessary  to  write  and  appoint  an  interview  before  going 
down  into  Essex.  He  had  several  calls  to  make  in  London  ; 
if  Macleod  did  not  see  him  before,  they  should  meet  at  seven 
for  dinner.  Macleod  saw  him  depart  without  any  great  regret. 

When  he  himself  went  outside  it  was  already  noon,  but 
the  sun  had  not  yet  broken  through  the  mist,  and  London 
seemed  cold,  and  lifeless;  and  deserted.  He  did  not  know 
of  any  one  of  his  former  friends  being  left  in  the  great  and 


164  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

lonely  city.  He  walked  along  Piccadilly,  and  saw  how  many 
of  the  houses  were  shut  up.  The  beautiful  foliage  of  the  Green 
Park  had  vanished  ;  and  here  and  there  a  red  leaf  hung  on 
a  withered  branch.  And  yet,  lonely  as  he  felt  in  walking 
through  this  crowd  of  strangers,  he  was  nevertheless  pos- 
sessed with  a  nervous  and  excited  fear  that  at  any  moment 
he  might  have  to  quail  before  the  inquiring  glance  of  a  cer- 
tain pair  of  calm,  large  eyes.  Was  this,  then,  really  Keith 
Macleod  who  was  haunted  by  these  fantastic  troubles  .'*  Had 
he  so  little  courage  that  he  dared  not  go  boldly  up  to  her 
house  and  hold  out  his  hand  to  her?  As  he  walked  along 
this  thoroughfare,  he  was  looking  far  ahead ;  and  when  any 
tall  and  slender  figure  appeared  that  might  by  any  possibility 
be  taken  for  hers,  he  watched  it  with  a  nervous  interest  that 
had  something  of  dread  in  it.  So  much  for  the  high  courage 
born  of  love ! 

It  was  with  some  sense  of  relief  that  he  entered  Hyde 
Park,  for  here  there  were  fewer  people.  And  as  he  walked 
on,  the  day  brightened.  A  warmer  light  began  to  suffuse 
the  pale  mist  lying  over  the  black-green  masses  of  rhododen- 
drons, the  leafless  trees,  the  clamp  grassplots,  the  empty 
chairs  ;  and  as  he  was  regarding  a  group  of  people  on  horse- 
back who,  almost  at  the  summit  of  the  red  hill,  seemed  about 
to  disappear  into  the  mist,  behold !  a  sudden  break  in  the 
sky ;  a  silvery  gleam  shot  athwart  from  the  south,  so  that 
these  distant  figures  grew  almost  black  ;  and  presently  the 
frail  sunshine  of  November  was  streaming  all  over  the  red  ride 
and  the  raw  green  of  the  grass.  His  spirits  rose  somewhat. 
When  he  reached  the  Serpentine,  the  sunlight  was  shining 
on  the  rippling  blue  water ;  and  there  were  pert  young  ladies 
of  ten  or  twelve  feeding  the  ducks;  and  away  on  the  other 
side  there  was  actually  an  island  amidst  the  blue  ripples  ; 
and  the  island,  if  it  was  not  as  grand  as  Staffa  nor  as  green 
as  Ulva,  was  nevertheless  an  island,  and  it  was  pleasant 
enough  to  look  at,  with  its  bushes,  and  boats,  and  white 
swans.  And  then  he  bethought  him  of  his  first  walks  by  the 
side  of  this  little  lake — when  Oscar  was  the  only  creature  in 
London  he  had  to  concern  himself  with — when  each  new  day 
was  only  a  brighter  holiday  than  its  predecessor — when  he  was 
of  opinion  that  London  was  the  happiest  and  most  beautiful 
place  in  the  world  ;  and  of  that  bright  morning,  too,  when  he 
walked  through  the  empty  streets  at  dawn,  and  came  to  the 
peacefully  flowing  river. 

These  idle  meditations  were  suddenly  interrupted.    Awa) 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


165 


along  the  bank  of  the  lake  his  keen  eye  could  make  out  a  fig- 
ure, which,  even  at  that  distance,  seemed  so  much  to  re- 
semble one  he  knew,  that  his  heart  began  to  beat  quick. 
Then  the  dress — all  of  black,  with  a  white  hat  and  white 
gloves.;  was  not  that  of  the  simplicity  that  had  always  so 
great  an  attraction  for  her  ?  And  he  knew  that  she  was  sin- 
gularly fond  of  Kensington  Gardens ;  and  might  she  not  be 
going  thither  for  a  stroll  before  going  back  to  the  Piccadilly 
Theatre  ?  He  hastened  his  steps.  He  soon  began  to  gain 
on  the  stranger  ;  and  the  nearer  he  got  the  more  it  seemed  to 
him  that  he  recognized  the  graceful  walk  and  carriage  of  this 
slender  woman.  She  passed  under  the  archway  of  the  bridge. 
When  she  had  emerged  from  the  shadow,  she  paused  for  a 
moment  or  two  to  look  at  the  ducks  on  the  lake ;  and  this 
arch  of  shadow  seemed  to  frame  a  beautiful  sunlit  picture — 
the  singl-e  figure  against  a  background  of  green  bushes.  And 
if  this  were  indeed  she,  how  splendid  the  world  would  all  be- 
come in  a  moment !  In  his  eagerness  of  anticipation  he  for- 
got his  fear.  What  would  she  say  ?  Was  he  to  hear  her  laugh 
once  more,  and  take  her  hand  ?  Alas  !  when  he  got  close 
enough  to  make  sure,  he  found  that  his  beautiful  figure  be- 
longed to  a  somewhat  pretty,  middle-aged  lady,  who  had 
brought  a  bag  of  scraps  with  her  to  feed  the  ducks.  The 
world  grew  empty  again.  He  passed  on,  in  a  sort  of  dream. 
He  only  knew  he  was  in  Kensington  Gardens  ;  and  that 
once  or  twice  he  had  walked  with  her  down  those  broad 
alleys  in  the  happy  summer-time  of  flowers,  and  sunshine,  and 
the  scent  of  limes.  Now  there  was  a  pale  blue  mist  in  the 
open  glades  ;  and  a  gloomy  purple  instead  of  the  brilliant 
green  of  the  trees  ;  and  the  cold  wind  that  came  across  rus-» 
tied  the  masses  of  brown  orange  leaves  that  were  lying  scat- 
tered on  the  ground.  He  got  a  little  more  interested  when 
he  neared  the  Round  Pond  ;  for  the  wind  had  freshened  ; 
and  there  were  several  handsome  craft  out  there  on  the  raging 
deep,  braving  well  the  sudden  squalls  that  laid  them  right  en 
their  beam-ends,  and  then  let  them  come  staggering  and 
dripping  up  to  windward.  But  there  were  two  small  boys 
there  who  had  brought  with  them  a  tiny  vessel  of  home-made 
build,  with  a  couple  of  lugsails,  a  jib,  and  no  rudder ;  and  it 
was  a  great  disappointment  to  them  that  this  nondescript 
craft  would  move,  if  it  moved  at  all,  in  an  uncertain  circle. 
Macleod  came  to  their  assistance — got  a  bit  of  floating  stick, 
and  carved  out  of  it  a  rude  rudder,  altered  the  sails,  and  al- 
together put  the  ship  into  such  sea-going  trim  that,  when  she 


1 66  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

was  fa'rly  launched,  she  kepi  a  pretty  good  course  for  the 
other  side,  where  doubtless  she  arrived  in  safety,  and  dis- 
charged her  passengers  and  cargo.  He  was  almost  sorry  to 
part  with  the  two  small  ship-owners.  They  almost  -seemed 
to  him  the  only  people  he  knew  in  London. 

But  surely  he  had  not  come  all  the  way  from  Castle  Dare 
to  walk  about  Kensington  Gardens  !  What  had  become  of 
that  intense  longing  to  see  her — to  hear  her  speak — that  had 
made  his  life  at  home  a  constant  torment  and  misery  ?  Well, 
it  still  held  possession  of  him  ;  but  all  the  same  there  was 
this  indefinable  dread  that  held  him  back.  Perhaps  he  was 
afraid  that  he  would  have  to  confess  to  her  the  true  reason 
for  his  having  come  to  London.  Perhaps  he  feared  he  might 
find  her  something  entirely  different  from  the  creature  of 
his  dreams.  At  all  events  as  he  returned  to  his  room 
and  sat  down  by  himself  to  thmk  over  all  the  things 
that  might  accrue  from  this  step  of  his,  he  only  got 
farther  and  farther  into  a  haze  of  nervous  indecision. 
One  thing  only  was  clear  to  him  :  with  all  his  hatred  and 
jealousy  of  the  theatre,  to  the  theatre  that  night  he  would 
have  to  go.  He  could  not  know  tliat  she  was  so  near  to  him 
— that  at  a  certain  time  and  place  he  would  certainly  see  hei 
and  listen  to  her — without  going.  He  bethought  him,  more- 
over, of  what  he  had  once  heard  her  say — that  while  she 
could  fairly  well  make  out  the  people  in  the  galleries  and 
boxes,  those  who  were  sitting  in  the  stalls  close  to  the  or- 
chestra were,  by  reason  of  the  glare  of  the  foot-lights,  quite 
invisible  to  her.  Might  he  not,  then,  get  into  some  corner 
where,  himself  unseen,  he  might  be  so  near  to  her  that  he 
could  almost  stretch  out  his  hand  to  her  and  take  her  hand, 
and  tell,  by  its  warmth  and  throbbing,  that  it  was  a  real 
woman,  and  not  a  dream,  that  filled  his  heart  ? 

Major  Stuart  was  put  off  by  some  excuse,  and  at  eight 
o'clock  Macleod  walked  up  to  the  theatre.  He  drew  near 
with  some  apprehension  ;  it  almost  seemed  to  him  as  though 
the  man  in  the  box-office  recognized  him,  and  knew  the  rea- 
son for  his  demanding  one  of  those  stalls.  He  got  it  easily 
enough  ;  there  was  no  great  run  on  the  new  piece,  even 
though  Miss  Gertrude  White  was  the  heroine.  He  made  his 
way  along  the  narrow  corridors ;  he  passed  into  the  glare  of 
the  house ;  he  took  his  seat  with  his  ears  dinned  by  the  loud 
music,  and  waited.  He  paid  no  heed  to  his  neighbors  ;  he 
had  already  twisted  up  the  programme  so  that  he  could  not 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  167 

have  read  it  if  he  had   wished  ;  he  was  aware   mostly  of   a 
sort  of  slightly  choking  sensation  about  the  throat. 

When  Gertrude  White  did  appear — she  came  in  unex- 
pectedly— he  almost  uttered  a  cry  ;  and  it  would  have  been 
a  cry  of  delight.  For  there  was  a  flesh  and  blood  woman,  a 
thousand  times  more  interesting,  and  beautiful,  and  lovable 
than  all  his  fancied  pictures  of  her.  Look  how  she  walks — 
how  simply  and  gracefully  she  takes  off  her  hat  and  places  it 
on  the  table  !  Look  at  the  play  of  light,  and  life,  and  glad- 
ness on  her  face — at  the  eloquence  of  her  eyes  !  He  had 
been  thinking  of  her  eyes  as  too  calmly  observant  and 
serious  :  he  saw  them  now,  and  was  amazed  at  the  difference 
— they  seemed  to  have  so  much  clear  light  in  them,  and 
pleasant  laughter.  He  did  not  fear  at  all  that  she  should 
see  him.  She  was  so  near — he  wished  he  could  take  her 
hand  and  lead  her  away.  What  concern  had  these  people 
around  with  her  ?  This  was  Gertrude  White — ^whom  he 
knew.  She  was  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Ross's ;  she  lived  in  a 
quiet  little  home,  with  an  affectionate  and  provoking  sister ; 
she  had  a  great  admiration  for  Oscar  the  collie  ;  she  had  the 
whitest  hand  in  the  world  as  she  offered  you  some  salad  at 
the  small,  neat  table.  What  was  she  doing  here — amidst  all 
this  glaring  sham — ^before  all  these  people  ?  "  Come  away 
quickly  j  "  his  heart  cried  to  her.  "  (2iiick — quick — id  us  get 
away  together :  there  is  some  mistake — some  illusion :  outside 
you  will  breathe  the  fresh  air,  ajid  get  into  the  reality  of  the 
world  again  /  and  you  will  ask  about  Oscar,  and  young  Ogil- 
vie  :  and  one  might  hold  your  hand — your  real  warm  hand — 
and  perhaps  hold  it  tight^  a?id  not  give  it  up  to  any  one  whatso- 
ever I "  His  own  hand  was  trembling  with  excitement.  The 
eagerness  of  delight  with  which  he  listened  to  every  word 
uttered  by  the  low-toned  and  gentle  voice  was  almost  pain- 
ful ;  and  yet  he  knew  it  not.  He  was  as  one  demented. 
This  was  Gertrude  White — speaking,  walking,  smiling,  a  fire 
of  beauty  in  her  clear  eyes ;  her  parted  lips  when  she 
laughed  letting  the  brilliant  light  just  touch  for  an  instant 
the  milk-white  teeth.  This  was  no  pale  Rose  Leaf  at  all — 
no  dream  or  vision — but  the  actual  laughing,  talking,  beauti- 
ful woman,  who  had  more  than  ever  of  that  strange  grace 
and  witchery  about  her  that  had  fascinated  him  when  first 
he  saw  her.  She  was  so  near  that  he  could  have  thrown  a 
rose  to  her — a  red  rose,  full  blown  and  full  scented.  He 
forgave  the  theatre — or  rather  he  forgot  it — in  the  unimagin- 
able delight  of  being  so  near  her.     Anc^when  at  length  she 


1 68  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

left  the  stage,  he  had  no  jealousy  of  the  poor  people  who  re- 
mained there  to  go  through  their  marionette  business.  He 
hoped  they  might  all  become  great  actors  and  actresses.  He 
even  thought  he  would  try  to  get  to  understand  the  story 
— seeing  he  should  have  nothing  else  to  do  until  Gertrude 
White  came  back  again. 

Now  Keith  Macleod  was  no  more  ignorant  or  innocent 
than  anybody  &\^q.  ;  but  there  was  one  social  misdemeanor — 
a  mere  peccadillo,  let  us  say — that  was  quite  unintelligible 
to  him.  He  could  not  understand  how  a  man  could  go  flirt- 
ing after  a  married  woman  ;  and  still  less  could  he  under- 
stand how  a  married  woman  should,  instead  of  attending  to 
her  children  and  her  house  and  such  matters,  make  herself 
ridiculous  by  aping  girlhood  and  pretending  to  have  a  lover. 
He  had  read  a  great  deal  about  this,  and  he  was  told  it  was 
common ;  but  he  did  not  believe  it.  The  same  authorities 
assured  him  that  the  women  of  England  were  drunkards  in 
secret ;  he  did  not  believe  it.  The  same  authorities  insisted 
that  the  sole  notion  of  marriage  that  occupied  the  head  of  an 
English  girl  of  our  own  day  was  as  to  how  she  should  sell 
her  charms  to  the  highest  bidder ;  he  did  not  believe  that 
either.  And  indeed  he  argued  with  himself,  in  considering 
to  what  extent  books  and  plays  could  be  trusted  in  such  mat- 
ters, that  in  one  obvious  case  the  absurdity  of  these  allega- 
tions was  proved.  If  France  were  the  France  of  French 
pla}^vrights  and  novelists,  the  whole  business  of  the  country 
would  come  to  a  standstill.  If  it  was  the  sole  and  constant 
occupation  of  every  adult  Frenchman  to  run  after  his 
neighbor's  wife,  how  could  bridges  be  built,  taxes  collected, 
fortifications  planned  1  Surely  a  Frenchman  must  sometimes 
think,  if  only  by  accident,  of  something  other  than  his  neigh- 
bor's wife  }  Macleod  laughed  to  himself  in  the  solitude  of 
Castle  Dare,  and  contemptuously  flung  the  unfinished  paper- 
covered  novel  aside. 

But  what  was  his  surprise  and  indignation — his  shamr;, 
even — on  finding  that  this  very  piece  in  which  Gertrude 
White  was  acting  was  all  about  a  jealous  husband,  and  a  gay 
and  thoughtless  wife,  and  a  villain  who  did  not  at  all  silently 
plot  her  ruin,  but  frankly  confided  his  aspirations  to  a  mutual 
friend,  and  rather  sought  for  sympathy ;  while  she,  Gertrude 
White  herself,  had^  before  all  these  people,  to  listen  to  ad- 
vances which,  in  her  innocence,  she  was  not  supposed  to  un- 
derstand. As  the  play  proceeded,  his  brows  grew  darker 
and  darker.     And  the  husband,  w^ho  ought  to  have  been  the 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


109 


guardian  of  his  wife's  honor?  Well,  the  husband  in  this 
rather  poor  play  was  a  creation  that  is  common  in  modern 
English  drama.  He  represented  one  idea  at  least  that  the 
English  playwright  has  certainly  not  borrowed  from  the 
French  stage.  Moral  worth  is  best  indicated  by  a  sullen  de- 
meanor. The  man  who  has  a  pleasant  manner  is  dangerous 
and  a  profligate  ;  the  virtuous  man — the  true-hearted  Eng- 
lishman— conducts  himself  as  a  boor,  and  proves  the  good- 
ness of  his  nature  by  his  silence  and  his  sulks.  The  hero  of 
this  trumpery  piece  was  of  this  familiar  type.  He  saw  the 
gay  fascinator  coming  about  his  house  ;  but  he  was  too  proud 
and  dignified  to  interfere.  He  knew  of  his  young  wife  be- 
coming the  byword  of  his  friends  ;  but  he  only  clasped  his 
hands  on  his  forehead,  and  sought  solitude,  and  scowled  as  a 
man  of  virtue  should.  Macleod  had  paid  but  little  attention 
to  stories  of  this  kind  when  he  had  merely  read  them  ;  but 
when  the  situation  was  visible — when  actual  people  were  be- 
fore him — the  whole  thing  looked  more  real,  and  his  sympa- 
thies became  active  enough.  How  was  it  possible,  he  thought, 
for  this  poor  dolt  to  fume  and  mutter,  and  let  his  innocent 
wife  go  her  own  way  alone  and  unprotected,  when  there  was 
a  door  in  the  room,  and  a  window  by  way  of  alternative  ? 
There  was  one  scene  in  which  the  faithless  friend  and  the 
young  wife  were  together  in  her  drawing-room.  He  drew 
nearer  to  her ;  he  spake  softly  to  her ;  he  ventured  to  take 
her  hand.  And  while  he  was  looking  up  appealingly  to  her, 
Macleod  was  regarding  his  face.  He  was  calculating  to  him- 
self the  precise  spot  between  the  eyes  where  a  man's  knuckles 
would  most  effectually  tell ;  and  his  hand  was  clinched,  and 
his  teeth  set  hard.  There  was  a  look  on  his  face  which  would 
have  warned  any  gay  young  man  that  when  Macleod  should 
marry,  his  wife  would  need  no  second  champion. 

But  was  this  the  atmosphere  by  which  she  was  sur- 
rounded ?  It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  piece  was  proper 
enough.  Virtue  was  triumphant ;  vice  compelled  to  sneak 
off  discomfited.  The  indignant  outburst  of  shame,  and  hor- 
ror, and  contemxpt  on  the  part  of  the  young  wife,  when  she 
came  to  know  what  the  villain's  suave  intentions  really  meant, 
gave  Miss  White  an  excellent  opportunity  of  displaying  her 
histrionic  gifts  ;  and  the  public  applauded  vehemently ;  but 
Macleod  had  no  pride  in  her  triumph.  He  was  glad  when 
the  piece  ended — when  the  honest-hearted  Englishman  so  far 
recovered  speech  as  to  declare  that  his  confidence  in  his  wife 
was  restored,  and  so  far  forgot  his  stolidity  of  face   and  de- 


I  ;r  ^  MA  CL  E  OD  OF  DA  RE . 

meanor  as  to  point  out  to  the  villain  the  way  to  the  door  in- 
stead of  kicking  him  thither.  Macleod  breathed  more  freely 
when  he  knew  that  Gertrude  White  was  now  about  to  go  away 
to  the  shelter  and  quiet  of  her  own  home.  He  went  back  to 
his  rooms,  and  tried  to  forget  the  precise  circumstances  in 
which  he  had  just  seen  her. 

But  not  to  forget  herself.  A  new  gladness  filled  his  heart 
when  he  thought  of  her — thought  of  her  not  now  as  a  dream 
or  a  vision,  but  as  the  living  and  breathing  woman  whose 
musical  laugh  seemed  still  to  be  ringing  in  his  ears.  He 
could  see  her  plainly — the  face  all  charged  with  life  and  love- 
liness ;  the  clear  bright  eyes  that  he  had  no  longer  any  fear 
of  meeting ;  the  sweet  mouth  with  its  changing  smiles.  When 
Major  Stuart  came  home  that  night  he  noticed  a  most  marked 
change  in  the  manner  of  his  companion.  Macleod  was  ex- 
cited, eager,  talkative  ;  full  of  high  spirits  and  friendliness  ; 
he  joked  his  friend  about  his  playing  truant  from  his  wife. 
He  was  anxious  to  know  all  about  the  major's  adventures, 
and  pressed  him  to  have  but  one  other  cigar,  and  vowed  that 
he  would  take  him  on  the  following  evening  to  the  only  place 
in  London  where  a  good  dinner  could  be  had.  There  was 
gladness  in  his  eyes,  a  careless  satisfaction  in  his  manner;  he 
was  ready  to  do  anything,  go  anywhere.  This  was  more  like 
the  Macleod  of  old.  Major  Stuart  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  atmosphere  of  London  had  had  a  very  good  effect 
on  his  friend's  spirits. 

When  Macleod  went  to  bed  that  night  there  were  wild 
and  glad  desires  and  resolves  in  his  brain  that  might  other- 
wise have  kept  him  awake  but  for  the  fatigue  he  had  lately 
endured.  He  slept,  and  he  dreamed  ;  and  the  figure  that  he 
saw  in  his  dreams — though  she  was  distant,  somehow — had  a 
look  of  tenderness  in  her  eyes,  and  she  held  a  red  rose  in  her 
hand. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

DECLARATION. 

November  though  it  was,  next  morning  broke  brilliantly 
over  London.  There  was  a  fresh  west  wind  blowing  ;  there 
was  a  clear  sunshine  filling  the  thoroughfares  ;  if  one  were  on 


A/ A  CL  E  on  OF  DA  RE.  i  y  i 

the  lookout  for  picturesqueness  even  in  Bury  Street,  was  there 
not  a  fine  touch  of  color  where  the  softly  red  chimney-pots 
rose  far  away  into  the  blue  ?  It  was  not  possible  to  have 
always  around  one  the  splendor  of  the  northern  sea. 

And  Macleod  would  not  listen  to  a  word  his  friend  had  to 
say  concerning  the  important  business  that  had  brought  them 
both  to  London. 

"  To-night,  man — to-night — we  will  arrange  it  all  to-night," 
he  would  say,  and  there  was  a  nervous  excitement  about  his 
manner  for  which  the  major  could  not  at  all  account. 

"  Sha'n't  I  see  you  till  the  evening,  then  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  Macleod  said,  looking  anxiously  out  of  the  window, 
as  if  he  feared  some  thunder-storm  would  suddenly  shut  out 
the  clear  light  of  this  beautiful  morning.  "  I  don't  know — 
perhaps  I  may  be  back  before — but  at  any  rate  we  meet  at 
seven.     You  will  remember — seven  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  it,"  his  companion  said, 
for  he  had  been  told  about  five-and-thirty  times. 

It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  when  Macleod  left  the  house. 
There  was  a  grateful  freshness  about  the  morning  even  here 
in  the  middle  of  London.  People  looked  cheerful ;  Picca- 
dilly was  thronged  with  idlers  come  out  to  enjoy  the  sunshine  ; 
there  was  still  a  leaf  or  two  fluttering  on  the  trees  in  the 
square.  Why  should  this  man  go  eagerly  tearing  away 
northward  in  a  hansom — with  an  anxious  and  absorbed  look 
on  his  face — when  everybody  seemed  inclined  to  saunter  leis- 
urely along,  breathing  the  sweet  wind,  and  feeling  the  sun- 
light on  their  cheek  ? 

It  was  scarcely  half-past  eleven  when  Macleod  got  out  of 
the  hansom,  and  opened  a  small  gate,  and  walked  up  to  the 
door  of  a  certain  house.  He  was  afraid  she  had  already  gone. 
He  was  afraid  she  might  resent  his  calling  at  so  unusual  an 
hour.  He  was  afraid — of  a  thousand  things.  And  when  at 
last  the  trim  maid-servant  told  him  that  Miss  White  was  with- 
in, and  asked  him  to  step  into  the  drawing-room,  it  was 
almost  as  one  in  a  dream  that  he  followed  her.  As  one  in  a 
dream,  truly ;  but  nevertheless  he  saw  every  object  around 
him  with  a  marvellous  vividness.  Next  day  he  could  recol- 
lect every  feature  of  the  room — the  empty  fireplace,  the  black- 
framed  mirror,  the  Chinese  fans,  the  small  cabinets  with  their 
shelves  of  blue  and  white,  and  the  large  open  book  on  the 
table,  with  a  bit  of  tartan  lying  on  it.  These  things  seemed 
to  impress  themselves  on  his  eyesight  involuntarily  ;  for  he 
was  in  reality  intently  listening  for  a  soft  footfall  outside  the 


172  MACLEOD  OF  DARB:. 

door.  He  went  forward  to  this  open  book.  It  was  a  volume 
of  a  work  on  the  Highland  clans — a  large  and  expensive 
work  that  was  not  likely  to  belong  to  Mr.  White.  And  this 
colored  figure  ?  It  was  the  representative  of  the  clan  Mac- 
leod  :  and  this  bit  of  cloth  that  lay  on  the  open  book  was  of 
the  Macleod  tartan.  He  withdrew  quickly,  as  though  he  had 
stumbled  on  some  dire  secret.  He  went  to  the  window.  He 
saw  only  leafless  trees  now,  and  withered  flowers  ;  with  the 
clear  sunshine  touching  the  sides  of  houses  and  walls  that  had 
in  the  summer  months  been  quite  invisible. 

There  was  a  slight  noise  behind  him ;  he  turned,  and  all 
the  room  seemed  filled  with  a  splendor  of  light  and  of  life  as 
she  advanced  to  him — the  clear,  beautiful  eyes  full  of  glad- 
ness, the  lips  smiling,  the  hand  frankly  extended.  And  of  a 
sudden  his  heart  sank.     Was  it  indeed  of  her, 

"  The  glory  of  life,  the  beauty  of  the  world," 

that  he  had  dared  to  dream  wild  and  impossible  dreams  t  He 
had  set  out  that  morning  with  a  certain  masterful  sense  that 
he  would  face  his  fate.  He  had  "  taken  the  world  for  his 
pillow,"  as  the  Gaelic  stories  say.  But  at  this  sudden  revela- 
tion of  the  incomparable  grace,  and  self-possession,  and  high 
loveliness  of  this  beautiful  creature,  all  his  courage  and 
hopes  fled  instantly,  and  he  could  only  stammer  out  excuses 
for  his  calling  so  early.  He  was  eagerly  trying  to  make  him- 
self out  an  ordinary  visitor.  He  explained  that  he  did  not 
know  but  that  she  might  be  going  to  the  theatre  during  the 
day.  He  was  in  London  for  a  short  time  on  business.  Il 
was  an  unconscionable  hour. 

"  But  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you ! "  she  said,  with  a  perfect 
sweetness,  and  her  eyes  sajd  more  than  her  words.  "  I 
should  have  been  really  vexed  if  I  had  heard  you  had  passed 
through  London  without  calling  on  us.  Won't  you  sit  down?" 

As  he  sat  down,  she  turned  for  a  second,  and  without  any 
embarrassment  shut  the  big  book  that  had  been  lying  open 
on  the  table. 

"  It  is  very  beautiful  weather,"  she  remarked — there  was 
no  tremor  about  her  fingers,  at  all  events,  as  she  made  secure 
the  brooch  that  fastened  the  simple  morning-dress  at  the 
neck,  "  only  it  seems  a  pity  to  throw  away  such  beautiful 
sunshine  on  withered  gardens  and  bare  trees.  We  have 
some  fine  chrysanthemums,  though  ;  but  I  confess  I  don't 
like  chrysanthemums  myself.     They  come  at  a  wrong  time. 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


73 


rhey  look  unnatural.  They  only  remind  one  of  what  is  gone. 
If  we  are  to  have  winter,  we  ought  to  have  it  out  and  out. 
The  chrysanthemums  always  seem  to  me  as  if  they  were 
making  a  pretence — trying  to  make  you  believe  chat  there 
was  still  some  life  left  in  the  dead  garden." 

It  was  very  pretty  talk,  all  this  about  chrysanthemums, 
uttered  in  the  low-toned,  and  gentle,  and  musical  voice  ;  but 
somehow  there  was  a  burning  impatience  in  his  heart,  and  a 
bitter  sense  of  hopelessness,  and  he  felt  as  though  he  would 
cry  out  in  his  despair.  How  could  he  sit  there  and  listen  to 
talk  about  chrysanthemums  ?  His  hands  were  tightly  clasped 
together ;  his  heart  was  throbbing  quickly  ;  there  was  a  hum- 
ming in  his  ears,  as  though  something  there  refused  to  hear 
about  chr).'santhemums. 

"  I — I  saw  you  at  the  theatre  last  night,"  said  he. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  abruptness  of  the  remark  that  caused 
the  quick  blush.  She  lowered  her  eyes.  But  all  the  same 
she  said,  with  perfect  self-possession, — 

"  Did  you  like  the  piece  ?  " 

And  he,  too  :  was  he  not  determined  to  play  the  part  of 
an  ordinary  visitor  ? 

"  I  am  not  much  of  a  judge,"  said  he,  lightly.  *'  The 
drawing-room  scene  is  very  pretty.  It  is  very  like  a  draw- 
ing-room. I  suppose  those  are  real  curtains,  and  real  pic- 
tures ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  it  is  all  real  furniture,"  said  she. 

Thereafter,  for  a  seconTi,  blank  silence.  Neither  dared 
to  touch  that  deeper  stage  question  that  lay  next  their  hearts. 
But  when  Keith  Maeleod,  in  many  a  word  of  timid  sugges- 
tion, and  in  the  jesting  letter  he  sent  her  from  Castle  Dare, 
had  ventured  upon  that  dangerous  ground,  it  was  not  to  talk 
about  the  real  furniture  of  a  stage  drawing-room.  However, 
was  not  this  an  ordinary  morning  call  ?  His  manner — his 
speech — everything  said  so  but  the  tightly-clasped  hands, 
and  perhaps  too  a  certain  intensity  of  look  in  the  eyes, 
which  seemed  anxious  and  constrained. 

"  Papa,  at  least,  is  proud  of  our  chrysanthemums,"  said 
Miss  White,  quickly  getting  away  from  the  stage  question. 
"  He  is  in  the  garden  now.  Will  you  go  out  and  see  him  ?  I 
am  sorry  Carry  has  gone  to  school." 

She  rose.  He  rose  also,  and  he  was  about  to  lift  his  hat 
from  the  table,  when  he  suddenly  turned  to  her. 

"  A  drowning  man  will  cry  out ;  how  can  you  prevent  his 
crying  out  ?  " 


^74 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


She  was  startled  by  the  change  in  the  sound  of  his  voice, 
and  still  more  by  the  almost  haggard  look  of  pain  and  en- 
treaty in  his  eyes.  He  seized  her  hand ;  she  would  have 
withdrawn  it,  but  she  could  not. 

"  You  will  listen.  It  is  no  harm  to  you.  I  must  speak 
now,  or  I  will  die,"  said  he,  quite  wildly ;  "  and  if  you  think 
I  am  mad,  perhaps  you  are  right,  but  people  have  pity  for  a 
madman.  Do  you  know  why  I  have  come  to  London  1  It 
is  to  see  you.  I  could  bear  it  no  longer — the  fire  that  was 
burning  and  killing  me.  Oh,  it  is  no  use  my  saying  that  it  is 
love  for  you — I  do  not  know  what  it  is — but  only  that  I  must 
tell  you,  and  you  cannot  be  angry  with  me — you  can  only 
pity  me  and  go  away.  That  is  it — it  is  nothing  to  you — you 
can  go  away." 

She  burst  into  tears,  and  snatched  her  hand  from  him, 
and  with  both  hands  covered  her  face. 

"  Ah  ! "  said  he,  "  is  it  pain  to  you  that  I  should  tell  you 
of  this  madness  ?  But  •you  will  forgive  me — and  you  will 
forget  it — and  it  will  not  pain  you  to-morrow  or  any  other 
day.  Surely  you  are  not  to  blame  !  Do  you  remember  the 
days  when  we  became  friends  ?  it  seems  a  long  time  ago,  but 
they  were  beautiful  days,  and  you  were  very  kind  to  me,  and 
I  was  glad  I  had  come  to  London  to  make  so  kind  a  friend. 
And  it  was  no  fault  of  yours  that  I  went  away  with  that  sick- 
ness of  the  heart ;  and  how  could  you  know  about  the  burn- 
ing fire,  and  the  feeling  that  if  I  did  not  see  you  I  might  as 
well  be  dead  ?  And  I  will  call  you  Gertrude  for  once  only. 
Gertrude,  sit  down  now — for  a  moment  or  two — and  do  not 
grieve  any  more  over  what  is  only  a  misfortune.  I  want  to 
tell  you.  After  I  have  spoken,  I  will  go  away,  and  there 
will  be  an  end  of  the  trouble." 

She  did  sit  doM^n  ;  her  hands  were  clasped  in  piteous 
despair ;  he  saw  the  tear  drops  on  the  long,  beautiful  lashes. 

"  And  if  the  drowning  man  cries  ?  "  said  he.  "  It  is  only 
a  breath.  The  waves  go  over  him,  and  the  world  is  at  peace. 
And  oh !  do  you  know  that  I  have  taken  a  strange  fancy  of 
late — But  I  will  not  trouble  you  with  that ;  you  may  hear  of 
it  afterward ;  you  will  understand,  and  know  you  have  no 
blame,  and  there  is  an  end  of  trouble.  It  is  quite  strange 
what  fancies  get  into  one's  head  when  one  is — sick — heart- 
sick. Do  you  know  what  I  thought  this  morning  ?  Will 
you  believe  it  ?  Will  you  let  the  drowning  man  cry  out  in  his 
madness  ?  Why,  I  said  to  myself,  '■  Up  now,  and  have  courage  ! 
Up  now,  and  be  brave,  and  win  a  bride  as  they  used  to  do 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


175 


in  the  old  stories.'  And  it  was  you — it  was  you — my  mad- 
ness thought  of.  '  You  will  tell  her,'  I  said  to  myself,  *  of 
all  the  love  and  the  worship  you  have  for  her,  and  your 
thinking  of  her  by  day  and  by  night ;  and  she  is  a  woman, 
and  she  will  have  pity.  And  then  in  her  surprise — why — ' 
But  then  you  came  into  the  room — it  is  only  a  little  while 
ago — but  it  seems  for  ever  and  ever  away  now — and  I  have 
only  pained  you — " 

She  sprang  to  her  feet ;  her  face  white,  her  lips  proud 
and  determined.  And  for  a  second  she  put  her  hands  on 
his  shoulders  ;  and  the  wet,  full,  piteous  eyes  met  his.  But 
as  rapidly  she  withdrew  them — almost  shuddering — and 
turned  away;  and  her  hands  were  apart,  each  clasped,  and 
she  bowed  her  head.  Gertrude  White  had  never  acted  like 
that  on  any  stage. 

And  as  for  him,  he  stood  absolutely  dazed  for  a  moment, 
not  daring  to  think  what  that  involuntary  action  might  mean. 
He  stepped  forward,  with  a  pale  face  and  a  bewildered  air, 
and  caught  her  hand.  Her  face  she  sheltered  with  the  other, 
and  she  was  sobbing  bitterly. 

"  Gertrude,"  he  said,  "  what  is  it  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

The  broken  voice  answered,  though  her  face  was  turned 
aside, — 

"  It  is  I  who  am  miserable.'* 

"  You  who  are  miserable  ? " 

She  turned  and  looked  fair  into  his  face,  with  her  eyes 
all  wet,  and  beautiful,  and  piteous. 

"  Can't  you  see  ?  Don't  you  understand  ?  "  she  said 
"  Oh,  my  good  friend  !  of  all  the  men  in  the  world,  you  are 
the  very  last  I  would  bring  trouble  to.  And  I  cannot  be  a 
hypocrite  with  you.  I  feared  something  of  this  ;  and  now 
the  misery  is  that  I  cannot  say  to  you,  '  Here,  take  my  hand. 
It  is  yours.  You  have  won  your  bride.'  I  cannot  do  it.  If 
we  were  both  differently  situated,  it  might  be  otherwise — " 

"  It  might  be  otherwise  !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  sudden 
wonder.  "  Gertrude,  what  do  you  mean  ?  Situated  ?  Is  it 
only  that  ?  Look  me  in  the  face,  now,  and  as  you  are  a  true 
woman  tell  me — if  we  were  both  free  from  all  situation — if 
there  were  no  difficulties — nothing  to  be  thought  of — could 
you  give  yourself  to  me  ?  Would  you  really  become  my  wife 
— ^you  who  have  all  the  world  flattering  you  ?  " 

She  dared  not  look  him  in  the  face.  There  was  some- 
thing about  the  vehemence  of  his  manner  that  almost  terri- 


1^6  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

fied  her.  But  she  ans\vered  bravely,  in  the  sweet,  low,  trem- 
bling voice,  and  with  downcast  eyes, — 

"  If  I  were  to  become  the  wife  of  any  one,  it  is  your  wire 
I  would  like  to  be ;  and  I  have  thought  of  it.  Oh,  I  cannot 
be  a  hypocrite  with  you  when  I  see  the  misery  I  have  brought 
you  !  And  I  have  thought  of  giving  up  all  my  present  life, 
and  all  the  wishes  and  dreams  I  have  cherished,  and  going 
away  and  living  the  simple  life  of  a  woman.  And  under 
whose  guidance  would  I  try  that  rather  than  yours  ?  You 
made  me  think.  But  it  is  all  a  dream — a  fancy.  It  is  im- 
possible.    It  would  only  bring  misery  to  you  and  to  me — " 

"  But  why — but  why  ?  "  he  eagerly  exclaimed  ;  and  there 
was  a  new  light  in  his  face.  "  Gerffude,  if  you  can  say  so 
much,  why  not  say  all .?  What  are  obstacles  ?  There  can  be 
none  if  you  have  the  fiftieth  part  of  the  love  for  me  that  I 
have  for  you !  Obstacles  !  "  And  he  laughed  with  a  strange 
laugh. 

She  looked  up  in  his  face. 

"  And  would  it  be  so  great  a  happiness  for  you  ?  That 
would  make  up  for  all  the  trouble  I  have  brought  you  ?  "  she 
said,  wistfully  ;  and  his  answer  was  to  take  both  her  hands 
in  his,  and  there  was  such  a  joy  in  his  heart  that  he  could 
not  speak  at  all.  But  she  only  shook  her  head  somewhat  sadly, 
and  withdrew  her  hands,  and  sat  down  again  by  the  table. 

"  It  is  wrong  of  me  even  to  think  of  it,^'  she  said.  "  To- 
day I  might  say  *  yes,'  and  to-morrow  ?  You  might  inspire 
me  with  courage  now  ;  and  afterward — I  should  only  bring 
you  further  pain.  I  do  not  know  myself.  I  could  not  be 
sure  of  myself.  How  could  I  dare  drag  you  into  such  a  ter- 
rible risk  t  It  is  better  as  it  is.  The  pain  you  are  suffering 
will  go.  You  will  come  to  call  me  your  friend  ;  and  you  will 
thank  me  that  I  refused.  Perhaps  I  shall  suffer  a  little  too," 
she  added,  and  once  more  she  rather  timidly  looked  up  into 
his  face.  "  You  do  not  know  the  fascination  of  seeing  your 
scheme  of  life,  that  you  have  been  dreaming  about,  just  sud- 
denly put  before  you  for  acceptance  ;  and  you  want  all  your 
common  sense  to  hold  back.  But  I  know  it  will  be  better — 
better  for  both  of  us.     You  must  believe  me." 

"  I  do  not  believe  you,  and  I  will  not  believe  you,"  said 
he,  with  a  proud  light  in  his  eyes  ;  "  and  now  you  have  said 
so  much  I  am  not  going  to  take  any  refusal  at  all.  Not  now. 
Gertrude,  I  have  courage  for  both  of  us  ;  when  you  are  timid, 
you  will  take  my  hand.  Say  it,  then  !  A  word  only  !  You 
have  already  said  all  but  that  !  " 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


177 


He  seemed  scarcely  the  same  man  who  had  appealed  to 
her  with  the  wild  eyes  and  the  haggard  face.  His  look  was 
radiant  and  proud.  He  spoke  with  a  firm  voice  ;  and  yet 
there  was  a  great  tenderness  in  his  tone. 

"  I  am  sure  you  love  me,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  You  will  see,"  he  rejoined,  with  a  firm  confidence. 

"  And  I  am  not  going  to  requite  your  love  ill.  You  are 
too  vehement.  You  think  of  nothing  but  the  one  end  to  it  all. 
But  I  am  a  woman,  and  women  are  taught  to  be  patient. 
Now  you  must  let  me  think  about  all  you  have  said." 

"  And  you  do  not  quite  refuse  .'*  "     said  he. 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment  or  two. 

"  I  must  think  for  you  as  well  as  for  myself,"  she  said, 
in  a  scarcely  audible  voice.  "  Give  me  time.  Give  me  till 
the  end  of  the  week." 

*'  At  this  hour  I  will  come." 

"  And  you  will  believe  I  have  decided  for  the  best — that 
I  have  tried  hard  to  be  fair  to  you  as  well  as  myself  .'*  " 

"  I  know  you  are  too  true  a  woman  for  anything  else," 
he  said  ;  and  then  he  added,  "  Ah,  w^ell,  now,  you  have  had 
enough  misery  for  one  morning ;  you  must  dry  your  eyes 
now,  and  we  will  go  out  into  the  garden ;  and  if  I  am  not  to 
say  anything  of  all  my  gratitude  to  you — why  ?  Because  I 
hope  there  will  be  many  a  year  to  do  that  in,  my  angel  of 
goodness ! " 

She  went  to  fetch  a  light  shawl  and  a  hat ;  he  kept  turn- 
ing over  the  things  on  the  table,  his  fingers  trembling,  his 
eyes  seeing  nothing.  If  they  did  see  anything,  it  was  a 
vision  of  the  brown  moors  near  Castle  Dare,  and  a  beautiful 
creature,  clad  all  in  cream-color  and  scarlet,  drawing  near 
the  great  gray  stone  house. 

She  came  into  the  room  again ;  joy  leaped  to  his  eyes. 

"  Will  you  follow  me  ?  " 

There  was  a  strangely  subdued  air  about  her  manner  as 
she  led  him  to  where  her  father  was  ;  perhaps  she  was  rather 
tired  after  the  varied  emotions  she  had  experienced ;  per- 
haps she  was  still  anxious.  He  was  not  anxious.  It  was  in 
a  glad  way  that  he  addressed  the  old  gentleman  who  stood 
there  with  a  spade  in  his  hand. 

"  It  is  indeed  a  beautiful  garden,"  Macleod  said,  looking 
round  on  the  withered  leaves  and  damp  soil ;  "  no  wonder 
you  look  after  it  yourself." 

"  I  am  not  gardening,"  the  old  man  said,  peevishly.  "  I 
have  been  putting  a  knife  in  the  ground — burying  the  hatchet, 


178  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

you  might  call  it.  Fancy  !  A  man  sees  an  old  hunting-knife 
in  a  shop  at  Gloucester — a  hunting-knife  of  the  time  of 
Charles  I,,  with  a  beautifully  carved  ivory  handle  •  and  he 
thinks  he  will  make  a  present  of  it  to  me.  What  does  he  do 
but  go  and  have  it  ground,  and  sharpened,  and  polished  until 
U  looks  like  something  sent  from  Sheffield  the  day  before 
yesterday ! " 

"  You  ought  to  be  very  pleased,  pappy,  you  got  it  at  all,' 
said  Gertrude  White  ;  but  she  was  looking  elsewhere,  and 
rather  absently  too. 

"  And  so  you  have  buried  it  to  restore  the  tone  ?  " 

"  I  have,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  marching  off  with  the 
shovel  to  a  sort  of  out  house. 

Macleod  speedily  took  his  leave. 

"  Saturday  next  at  noon,"  said  he  to  her,  with  no  timidity 
in  his  voice. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  more  gently,  and  with  downcast  eyes. 

He  walked  away  from  the  house — he  knew  not  whither. 
He  saw  nothing  around  him.  He  walked  hard,  sometimes 
talking  to  himself.  In  the  afternoon  he  found  himself  in  a 
village  in  Berkshire,  close  by  which,  fortunately,  there  was  a 
railway  station  ;  and  he  had  just  time  to  get  back  to  keep 
his  appointment  with  Major  Stuart* 

They  sat  down  to  dinner. 

"  Come,  now,  Macleod,  tell  me  where  you  have  been  all 
day,"  said  the  rosy-faced  soldier,  carefully  tucking  his  nap- 
kin under  his  chin. 

Macleod  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Another  day — another  day,  Stuart,  I  will  tell  you  all 
about  it.  It  is  the  most  ridiculous  story  you  ever  heard  in 
your  life  !  " 

It  was  a  strange  sort  of  laughing,  for  there  were  tears  in 
the  younger  man's  eyes.  But  Major  Stuart  was  too  busy  to 
notice  ;  and  presently  they  began  to  talk  about  the  real  and 
serious  object  of  their  expedition  to  London. 


MACLEOD  OF  DARF 


179 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A   RED   R.OSE. 

From  nervous  and  unreasoning  dread  to  o^  erweening 
and  extravagant  confidence  there  was  but  a  single  bound. 
After  the  timid  confession  she  had  made,  how  could  he  have 
any  further  fear  ?  He  knew  now  the  answer  she  must  cer- 
tainly give  him.  What  but  the  one  word  ^'' yes  " — musical  as 
the  sound  of  summer  seas — could  fitly  close  and  atone  for 
all  that  long  period  of  doubt  and  despair  ?  And  would  she 
murmur  it  with  the  low,  sweet  voice,  or  only  look  it  with  the 
clear  and  lambent  eyes  ?  Once  uttered,  anyhow,  surely  the 
glad  message  would  instantly  wing  its  flight  away  to  the  far 
North ;  and  Colonsay  would  hear  ;  and  the  green  shores  of 
Ulva  would  laugh ;  and  through  all  the  wild  dashing  and 
roaring  of  the  seas  there  would  be  a  soft  ringing  as  of 
wedding-bells.  The  Gometra  men  will  have  a  good  glass 
that  night ;  and  who  will  take  the  news  to  distant  Fladda  and 
rouse  the  lonely  Dutchman  from  his  winter  sleep  ?  There  is 
a  bride  coming  to  Castle  Dare  ! 

When  Norman  Ogilvie  had  even  mentioned  marriage, 
Macleod  had  merely  shaken  his  head  and  turned  away. 
There  was  no  issue  that  way  from  the  wilderness  of  pain  and 
trouble  into  which  he  had  strayed.  She  was  aFready  wedded 
— to  that  cruel  art  that  was  crushing  the  woman  within  her. 
Her  ways  of  life  and  his  were  separated  as  though  by  un- 
known oceans.  And  how  was  it  possible  that  so  beautiful  a 
woman — surrounded  by  people  who  petted  and  flattered  her 
— should  not  already  have  her  heart  engaged  ?  Even  if  she 
were  free,  how  could  she  have  bestowed  a  thought  on  him — 
a  passing  stranger — a  summer  visitor — the  acquaintance  of 
an  hour  ? 

But  no  sooner  had  Gertrude  White,  to  his  sudden  won- 
der, and  joy,  and  gratitude,  made  that  stammering  confession, 
than  the  impetuosity  of  his  passion  leaped  at  once  to  the  goal. 
He  would  not  hear  of  any  obstacles.  He  would  not  look  at 
them.  If  she  would  but  take  his  hand,  he  would  lead  her  and 
guard  her,  and  all  would  go  well.  And  it  was  to  this  effect  that 
he  wrote  to  her  day  after  day,  pouring  out  all  the  confidences 


i8o  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

of  his  heart  to  her,  appealing  to  her,  striving  to  convey  to  her 
something  of  his  own  high  courage  and  hope.  Strictly 
speaking,  perhaps,  it  was  not  quite  fair  that  he  should  thus 
have  disturbed  the  calm  of  her  deliberation.  Had  he  not 
given  her  till  the  end  of  the  week  to  come  to  a  deci- 
sion? But  when,  in  his  eagerness,  he  thought  of  some 
further  reason,  some  further  appeal,  how  could  he  remair. 
silent  ?  With  the  prize  so  near,  he  could  not  let  it  slip  from 
his  grasp  through  the  consideration  of  niceties  of  conduct. 
By  rights  he  ought  to  have  gone  up  to  Mr.  White  and  begged 
for  permission  to  pay  his  addresses  to  the  old  gentleman's 
daughter.  He  forgot  all  about  that.  He  forgot  that  Mr. 
White  was  in  existence.  All  his  thinking  from  morning  till 
night — and  through  much  of  the  night  too — was  directed "On 
her  answer — the  one  small  word  filled  with  a  whole  worldful 
of  light  and  joy. 

"  If  you  will  only  say  that  one  little  word,"  he  wrote  to 
her,  "  then  everything  else  becomes  a  mere  trifle.  If  there 
are  obstacles,  and  troubles,  and  what  not,  we  will  meet 
them  one  by  one,  and  dispose  of  them.  There  can  be  no  ob- 
stacles, if  we  are  of  one  mind ;  and  we  shall  be  of  one  mind 
sure  enough,  if  you  will  say  you  will  become  my  wife ;  for 
there  is  nothing  I  will  not  consent  to  ;  and  I  shall  only  be 
too  glad  to  have  opportunities  of  showing  my  great  gratitude 
to  you  for  the  sacrifice  you  must  make.  I  speak  of  it  as  a 
sacrifice  ;  but  I  do  not  believe  it  is  one — whatever  you  may 
think  now — and  whatever  natural  regret  you  may  feel — ^you 
will  grow  to  feel  there  was  no  evil  done  you  when  you  were 
drawn  away  from  the  life  that  now  surrounds  you.  And  if 
you  were  to  say  *  I  will  become  your  wife  only  on  one  con- 
dition— that  I  am  not  asked  to  abandon  my  career  as  an  ac- 
tress,' still  I  would  say  *  Become  my  wife.'  Surely  matters 
of  arrangement  are  mere  trifles — after  you  have  given  me 
your  promise.  And  when  you  have  placed  your  hand  in 
mine  (and  the  motto  of  the  Macleods  is  Hold  Fas f)^  we  can 
study  conditions,  and  obstacles,  and  the  other  nonsense  that 
our  friends  are  sure  to  suggest,  at  our  leisure.  I  think  I  al- 
ready hear  you  say  *  Yes ; '  I  listen  and  listen,  until  I  almost 
hear  your  voice.  And  if  it  is  to  be  *  Yes,'  will  you  wear  a 
red  rose  in  your  dress  on  Saturday  ?  I  shall  see  that  before 
you  speak.  I  will  know  what  your  massage  is,  even  if  there 
are  people  about.     One  red  rose  only." 

"  Macleod,"  said  Major  Stuart  to  him,  "  did  you  come 
to  London  to  write  love-letters  ?  " 


A/A  CLE  on  OF  DARE.  1 8 1 

*'  Love-letters  !  "  he  said,  angrily ;  but  then  he  laughed. 
"  And  what  did  you  come  to  London  for? " 

"  On  a  highly  philanthropic  errand,"  said  the  other,gravely, 
"  which  I  hope  to  see  fulfilled  to-morrow.  And  if  we  have  a 
day  or  two  to  spare,  that  is  well  enough,  for  one  cannot  be 
always  at  work  ;  but  I  did  not  expect  to  take  a  holiday  in 
the  company  of  a  man  who  spends  three-fourths  of  the  day 
at  a  writing-desk." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Macleod,  though  there  was  some  tell- 
tale color  in  his  face.  "  All  the  writing  I  have  done  to-day 
would  not  fill  up  twenty  minutes.  And  if  I  am  a  dull  com- 
panion, is  not  Norman  Ogilvie  coming  to  dinner  to-night  to 
amuse  you  ? " 

While  they  were  speaking,  a  servant  broughtln  a  card. 

"Ask  the  gentleman  to  come  up,"  Macleod  said,  and 
then  he  turned  to  his  companion.  "  What  an  odd  thing !  I 
was  speaking  to  you  a  minute  ago  about  that  drag  accident. 
And  here  is  Beauregard  himself." 

The  tall,  rough-visaged  man — stooping  slightly  as  though 
he  thought  the  doorway  was  a  triiie  low — came  forward  and 
shook  hands  with  Macleod,  and  was  understood  to  inquire 
about  his  health,  though  what  he  literally  said  was,  "  Hawya, 
Macleod,  hawya  ? " 

"  I  heard  you  were  in  town  from  Paulton — you  remember, 
Paulton,  who  dined  with  you  at  Richmond.  He  saw  you  in 
a  hansom  yesterday ;  and  I  took  my  chance  of  finding  you 
in  your  old  quarters.     What  are  you  doing  in  London  ?  " 

Macleod  briefly  explained. 

"  And  you  ?  "  he  asked,  "  what  has  brought  you  to  Lon- 
don ?    I  thought  you  and  Lady  Beauregard  were  in  Ireland." 

"  We  have  just  come  over,  and  go  down  to  Weatherill 
to-morrow.  Won't  you  come  down  and  shoot  a  pheasant  or 
two  before  you  return  to  the  Highlands  ? " 

'*  Well,  the  fact  is,"  Macleod  said,  hesitatingly,  "  my 
friend  and  I — by  the  way,  let  me  introduce  you — Lord  Beau- 
regard, Major  Stuart — the  fact  is,  we  ought  to  go  back 
directly  after  we  have  settled  this  business." 

"  But  a  day  or  two  won't  matter.  Now,  let  me  see. 
Plymley  comes  to  us  on  Monday  next,  I  think.  We  could 
get  up  a  party  for  you  on  the  Tuesday  ;  and  if  your  friend 
will  come  with  you,  we  shall  be  six  guns,  which  I  always 
think  the  best  number." 

The  gallant  major  showed  no  hesitation  whatever.  The 
chance  of  blazing  away  at  a  whole  atmosphereful  of  pheas- 


i82  MACLEOD  OF  DARE 

ants — for  so  he  construed  the  invitation — did  not  often 
come  in  his  way. 

"  I  am  quite  sure  a  day  or  two  won't  make  any  differ- 
ence," said  he,  quickly.  "  In  any  case  we  were  not  thinking 
of  going  till  Monday,  and  that  would  only  mean  an  extra 
day." 

*'  Very  well,"  Macleod  said. 

"  Then  you  will  come  down  to  dinner  on  the  Monday 
evening.  I  will  see  if  there  is  no  alteration  in  the  trains, 
and  drop  you  a  note  with  full  instructions.  Is  it  a  bargain  ?  " 

"  It  is." 

"  All  right.     I  must  be  off  now.     Good-by." 

Major  Stuart  jumped  to  his  feet  with  great  alacrity,  and 
warmly  shook  hands  with  the  departing  stranger.  Then, 
when  the  door  was  shut,  he  went  through  a  pantomimic  ex- 
pression of  bringing  down  innumerable  pheasants  from  every 
corner  of  the  ceiling — with  an  occasional  aim  at  the  floor, 
where  an  imaginary  hare  was  scurrying  by. 

"  Macleod,  Macleod,"  said  he,  "  you  are  a  trump.  You 
may  go  on  writing  love-letters  from  now  till  next  Monday  af- 
ternoon.    I  suppose  we  will  have  a  good  dinner,  too  ? " 

"  Beauregard  is  said  to  have  the  best  chef  in  London  ;  and 
I  don't  suppose  they  would  leave  so  important  a  person  in 
Ireland." 

"  You  have  my  gratitude,  Macleod — eternal,  sincere,  un- 
bounded," the  major  said,  seriously. 

"  But  it  is  not  I  who  am  asking  you  to  go  and  massacre 
a  lot  of  pheasants,"  said  Macleod  ;  and  he  spoke  rather  ab- 
sently, for  he  was  thinking  of  the  probable  mood  in  which  he 
would  go  down  to  Weatherill.  One  of  a  generous  gladness 
and  joy,  the  outward  expression  of  an  eager  and  secret  hap- 
piness to  be  known  by  none  ?  Or  what  if  there  were  no  red 
rose  at  all  on  her  bosom  when  she  advanced  to  meet  him  with 
sad  eyes  ? 

They  went  down  into  Essex  next  day.  Major  Stuart  was 
surprised  to  find  that  his  companion  talked  not  so  much  about 
the  price  of  machines  for  drying  saturated  crops  as  about  the 
conjectural  cost  of  living  in  the  various  houses  they  saw  from 
afar,  set  amidst  the  leafless  trees  of  November. 

"  You  don't  think  of  coming  to  live  in  England,  do  you  ?  " 
said  he. 

"  No — at  least,  not  at  present,"  Macleod  said.  "  Of  course^ 
one  never  knows  what  may  turn  up.  I  don't  propose  to  live 
at  Dare  all  my  life." 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  1^3 

"  Your  wife  might  want  to  live  in  England,"  the  major 
said,  coolly. 

Macleod  started  and  stared. 

"  You  have  been  writing  a  good  many  letters  ot  late,"  said 
his  companion. 

"  And  is  that  all  ?  "  said  Macleod,  answering  him  in  the 
Gaelic.  "You  know  the  proverb — Tossing  the  head  will 
not  make  the  boat  row.     I  am  not  married  yet." 

The  result  of  this  journey  was,  that  they  agreed  to  pur- 
chase one  of  the  machines  for  transference  to  the  rainy  re- 
gions of  Mull ;  and  then  they  returned  to  London.  This  was 
on  Wednesday.  Major  Stuart  considered  they  had  a  few 
days  to  idle  by  before  the  battue ;  Macleod  was  only  excited- 
ly aware  that  Thursday  and  Friday — two  short  November  days 
— came  between  him  and  that  decision  which  he  regarded 
with  an  anxious  joy. 

The  day  went  by  in  a  sort  of  dream.  A  pale  fog  hung 
over  London  ;  and  tis  he  wandered  about  he  saw  the  tall 
houses  rise  faintly  blue  into  the  gray  mist ;  and  the  great 
coffee-colored  river,  flushed  with  recent  rains,  rolled  down 
between  the  pale  embankments  ;  and  the  golden-red  globe 
of  the  sun,  occasionally  becoming  visible  through  the  mottled 
clouds,  sent  a  ray  of  fire  here  and  there  on  some  window- 
p.-ine  or  lamp. 

In  the  course  of  his  devious  wanderings — ^for  he  mostly 
went  about  alone — he  made  his  way,  with  great  trouble  and 
perplexity,  to  the  court  in  which  the  mother  of  Johnny  Wickes 
lived  ;  and  he  betrayed  no  shame  at  all  in  confronting  the 
poor  woman — half  starved,  and  pale,  and  emaciated  as  she 
was — whose  child  he  had  stolen.  It  was  in  a  tone  of  quite 
gratuitous  pleasantry  that  he  described  to  her  how  the  small 
lad  was  growing  brown  and  fat ;  and  he  had  the  audacity  to 
declare  to  her  that  as  he  proposed  to  pay  the  boy  the  sum  of 
one  shilling  per  week  at  present,  he  might  as  well  hand  over 
to  her  the  three  months'  pay  which  he  had  already  earned. 
And  the  woman  was  so  amused  at  the  notion  of  little  Johnny 
Wickes  being  able  to  earn  anything  at  all,  that,  when  she  re- 
ceived the  money  and  looked  at  it,  she  burst  out  crying ; 
and  she  had  so  little  of  the  spirit  of  the  British  matron,  and  so 
little  regard  for  the  laws  of  her  country,  that  she  invoked 
Heaven  knows  what — Heaven  does  know  what — blessings 
on  the  head  of  the  very  man  who  had  carried  her  child  into 
slavery.  » 

"  And  the  first  time  I  am  going  over  to  Oban,"  said  he, 


1 84  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

*■  I  will  take  him  with  me,  and  I  will  get  a  photograph  of  him 
made,  and  I  will  send  you  the  photograph.  And  did  you  get 
the  rabbits  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  sir,  I  got  the  rabbits.'* 

"  And  it  is  a  very  fine  poacher  your  son  promises  to  be, 
for  he  got  every  one  of  the  rabbits  with  his  own  snare,  though 
I  am  thinking  it  was  old  Hamish  was  showing  him  how  to 
use  it.     And  I  will  say  good-by  to  you  now." 

The  poor  woman  seemed  to  hesitate  for  a  second. 

"  If  there  was  any  sewing,  sir,"  wiping  her  eyes  with  the 
corner  of  her  apron,  "  that  I  could  do  for  your  good  lady, 
sir — " 

"  But  I  am  not  married,"  said  he,  quickly. 

"  Ah,  well,  indeed,  sir,"  she  said  with  a  sigh. 

"  But  if  there  is  any  lace,  or  sewing,  or  anything  like  that 
you  can  send  to  my  mother,  I  have  no  doubt  she  will  pay  you 
for  it  as  well  as  any  one  else — " 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  paying,  sir ;  but  to  show  you  I 
am  not  ungrateful,"  was  the  answer ;  and  if  she  said  him- 
grateful^  what  matter  ?  She  was  a  woman  without  spirit ;  she 
had  sold  away  her  son. 

From  this  dingy  court  he  made  his  way  round  to  Covent 
Garden  market,  and  he  went  into  a  florist's  shop  there. 

"  I  want  a  bouquet,"  said  he  to  the  neat-handed  maiden 
who  looked  up  at  him. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  she ;  "  will  you  look  at  those  in  the 
window  ? " 

"  But  I  want  one,"  said  he,  "  with  a  single  rose — a  red 
rose — in  the  centre." 

This  proposition  did  no't  find  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the 
/nild-mannered  artist,  who  explained  to  him  that  something 
more  important  and  ornate  was  necessary  in  the  middle  of 
a  bouquet.  He  could  have  a  circle  of  rose-buds,  if  he  liked, 
outside  ;  and  a  great  white  lily  or  camellia  in  the  centre.  He 
could  have — this  thing  and  the  next ;  she  showed  him  how 
she  could  combine  the  features  of  this  bouquet  with  those  of 
the  next.     But  the  tall  Highlander  remained  obdurate. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "I  tl  ink  you  are  quite  right.  You  are 
quite  right,  I  am  sure.  But  it  is  this  that  I  would  rather  have 
— only  one  red  rose  in  the  centre,  and  you  can  make  the  rest 
what  you  like,  only  I  think  if  they  were  smaller  flowers,  and 
all  white,  that  would  be  better." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  young  lady,  with  a  pleasyig  smile 
Tshe  was  rather  good-looking  herself),  "  I  will  try  what  I  can 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  185 

do  for  you  if  you  don't  mind   waiting.     Will   you   take   a 
chair  ? " 

He  was  quite  amazed  by  the  dexterity  with  which  those 
nimble  fingers  took  from  one  cluster  and  another  cluster  the 
very  flowers  he  would  himself  have  chosen  ;  and  by  the  rapid 
fashion  in  which  they  were  dressed,  fitted,  and  arranged. 
The  work  of  art  grew  apace. 

"  But  you  must  have  something  to  break  the  white,"  said 
she,  smiling,  "  or  it  will  look  too  like  a  bride's  bouquet ;  "  and 
with  that — almost  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye — she  had  put  a 
circular  line  of  dark  purple-blue  through  the  cream-white 
blossoms.  It  was  a  splendid  rose  that  lay  in  the  midst  of 
all  that  beauty. 

"  What  price  would  you  like  to  give,  sir  ?  "  the  gentle 
Phyllis  had  said  at  the  very  outset.  "  Half  a  guinea — fifteen 
shillings  ? " 

*'  Give  me  a  beautiful  rose,"  said  he,  ''  and  I  do  not  mind 
what  the  price  is." 

And  at  last  the  lace-paper  was  put  round ;  and  a  little 
further  trimming  and  setting  took  place  ;  and  finally  the  bou- 
quet was  swathed  in  soft  white  wool  and  put  into  a  basket. 

"  Shall  I  take  the  address  ?  "  said  the  young  lady  no 
doubt  expecting  that  he  would  write  it  on  the  back  of  one  of 
his  cards.  But  no.  He  dictated  the  address,  and  then  lay 
down  the  money.  The  astute  young  person  was  puzzled — 
perhaps  disappointed. 

"  Is  there  no  message,  sir  ? "  said  she — "  no  card  ? " 

"  No  ;  but  you  must  be  sure  to  have  it  delivered  to-night." 

"  It  shall  be  sent  off  at  once,"  said  she,  probably  thinking 
that  this  was  a  very  foolish  young  man  who  did  not  know  the 
ways  of  the  world.  The  only  persons  of  whom  she  had  any 
experience  who  sent  bouquets  without  a  note  or  a  letter  were 
husbands,  who  were  either  making  up  a  quarrel  with  their 
wives  or  going  to  the  opera,  and  she  had  observed  that  on 
such  occasions  the  difference  between  twelve-and-sixpence 
md  fifteen  shillings  was  regarded  and  considered. 

He  slept  but  little  that  night ;  and  next  morning  he  got 
up  nervous  and  trembling,  like  a  drunken  man,  with  half  the 
courage  and  confidence,  that  had  so  long  sustained  him, 
^Cone.  Major  Stuart  went  out  early.  He  kept  pacing  about, 
the  room  until  the  frightfully  slow  half-hours  went  by;  he 
hated  the  clock  on  the  mantelpiece.  And  then,  by  a  strong 
effort  of  will,  he  delayed  starting  until  he  should  barely  have 
time  to  reach  her  house  by  twelve  o'clock,  so  that  he  should 


1 86  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

have  the  mad  delight  of  eagerly  wishing  the  hansom  had  a 
Btill  more  furious  speed.  He  had  chosen  his  horse  well.  It 
wanted  five  minutes  to  the  appointed  hour  when  he  arrived 
at  the  house. 

Did  this  trim  maid-servant  know  ?  Was  there  anything 
of  welcome  in  the  demure  smile  ?  He  followed  her ;  his  face 
was  pale,  though  he  knew  it  not ;  in  the  dusk  of  the  room  he 
was  left  alone. 

But  what  was  this  on  the  table  ?  He  almost  uttered  a 
cry  as  his  bewildered  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  it.  The  very 
bouquet  he  had  sent  the  previous  evening ;  and  behold — 
behold ! — the  red  rose  wanting  !  And  then,  at  the  same 
moment,  he  turned ;  and  there  was  a  vision  of  something  all 
in  white — that  came  to  him  timidly — all  in  white  but  for  the 
red  star  of  love  shining  there.  And  she  did  not  speak  at  all ; 
but  she  buried  her  head  in  his  bosom  ;  and  he  held  her  hands 
tight. 

And  now  what  will  Ulva  say — and  the  lonely  shores  of 
Fladda — and  the  distant  Dutchman  roused  from  his  winter 
sleep  amidst  the  wild  waves  ?  Far  away  over  the  white 
sands  of  lona — and  the  sunlight  must  be  shining  there  now 
— there  is  many  a  sacred  spot  fit  for  the  solemn  plighting  of 
lovers'  vows  ;  and  if  there  is  any  organ  wanted,  what  more 
noble  than  the  vast  Atlantic  rollers  booming  into  the  Bourg 
and  Gribun  caves  ?  Surely  they  must  know  already ;  for  the 
sea-birds  have  caught  the  cry  ;  and  there  is  a  sound  all 
through  the  glad  rushing  of  the  morning  seas  like  the  sound 
of  wedding-bells.  There  is  a  bride  coming  to  Castle  Dare — the 
islands  listen  ;  and  the  wild  sea  calls  again  ;  and  the  green 
shores  of  Ulva  grow  greener  still  in  the  sunlight.  There  is 
a  bride  coming  to  Castle  Dare  ;  and  the  bride  is  dressed  all 
in  white — only  she  wears  a  red  rose. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

ENTHUSIASMS 

She  was  seated  alone,  her  arms  on  the  table,  her  head 
bent  down.  There  was  no  red  rose  now  in  the  white  morn- 
ing-dress, for  she  had  given   it  to  him  when   he   left.     The 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  187 

frail  November  sunshine  streamed  into  the  room  and  put  a 
shimmer  of  gold  on  the  soft  brown  of  her  hair. 

It  was  a  bold  step  she  had  taken,  without  counsel  of  any 
one.  Her  dream  was  now  to  give  up  everything  that  she 
had  hitherto  cared  about,  and  to  go  away  into  private  life  to 
play  the  "part  of  Lady  Bountiful.  And  if  doubts  about  the 
strength  of  her  own  resolution  occasionally  crossed  her 
mind,  could  she  not  appeal  for  aid  and  courage  to  him  who 
would  always  be  by  her  side  ?  When  she  became  a  Macleod, 
she  would  have  to  accept  the  motto  of  the  Macleods.  That 
motto  is,  Hold  Fast. 

She  heard  her  sister  come  into  the  house,  and  she  raised 
her  head.  Presently  Carry  opened  the  door ;  and  it  was 
clear  she  was  in  high  spirits. 

*'  Oh,  Mopsy,"  said  she — and  this  was  a  pet  name  she 
gave  her  sister  only  when  the  latter  was  in  great  favor — "  did 
you  ever  see  such  a  morning  in  November  ?  Don't  you  think 
papa  might  take  us  to  Kew  Gardens  ?  " 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you.  Carry — come  here,"  she  said, 
gravely  ;  and  the  younger  sister  went  and  stood  by  the 
table.  "You  know  you  and  I  are  thrown  very  much  on  each 
other  ;  and  we  ought  to  have  no  secrets  from  each  other ;  and 
we  ought  to  be  always  quite  sure  of  each  other's  sympathy. 
Now,  Carry,  you  must  be  patient,  you  must  be  kind  :  if  I 
don't  get  sympathy  from  you,  from  whom  should  I  get  it  ? " 

Carry  withdrew  a  step,  and  her  manner  instantly  changed. 
Gertrude  White  was  a  very  clever  actress  ;  but  she  had  never 
been  able  to  impose  on  her  younger  sister.  This  imploring 
look  was  all  very  fine  ;  this  appeal  for  sympathy  was  pathetic 
enough ;  but  both  only  awakened  Carry's  suspicions.  In 
their  ordinary  talk  sisters  rarely  use  such  formal  words  as 
"  sympathy." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  she,  sharply. 

"  There — already  !  "  exclaimed  the  other,  apparently  in 
deep  disappointment.  "  Just  when  I  most  need  your  kind- 
ness and  sympathy,  you  show  yourself  most  unfeeling — " 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what  it  is  all  about,"  Carry 
said,  impatiently. 

The  elder  sister  lowered  her  eyes,  and  her  fingers  began 
to  work  with  a  paper-knife  that  w^as  lying  there.  Perhaps 
this  was  only  a  bit  of  stage-business  ;  or  perhaps  she  was 
really  a  little  apprehensive  about  the  effect  of  her  announce- 
ment. 


iS8  MACLEOD  Of  DARE. 

"  Carry,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  have  promised  to 
marry  Sir  Keith  Macleod. 

Carry  uttered  a  slight  cry  of  horror  and  surprise  ;  but 
this  too  was  only  a  bit  of  stage  effect,  for  she  had  fully  anti- 
cipated the  disclosure. 

•'Well,  Gertrude  White  !  "  said  she,  apparently  when  she 
had  recovered  her  breath.     "  Well — I — I — I — never !  " 

Her  language  was  not  as  imposing  as  her  gestures  ;  but 
then  nobody  had  written  the  part  for  her  ;  whereas  her  very 
tolerable  acting  was  nature's  own  gift. 

*'  Now,  Carry,  be  reasonable — don't  be  angry  :  what  is 
the  use  of  being  vexed  with  what  is  past  recalling  ?  Any 
other  sister  would  be  very  glad  at  such  a  time — "  These 
were  the  hurried  and  broken  sentences  with  which  the  cul- 
prit sought  to  stave  off  the  coming  wrath.  But,  oddly  enough, 
Miss  Carry  refrained  from  denunciations  or  any  other  stormy 
expression  of  her  anger  and  scorn.  She  suddenly  assumed 
a  cold  and  critical  air. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  she,  "  before  you  allowed  Sir  Keith 
Macleod  to  ask  you  to  become  his  wife,  you  explained  to  him 
our  circumstances." 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  You  told  him,  of  course,  that  you  had  a  ne'er-do-well 
brother  in  Australia,  who  might  at  any  moment  appear  and 
disgrace  the  whole  family  ?  " 

"  I  told  him  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  had  no  opportunity  of 
getting  into  family  affairs.  An^  if  I  had,  what  has  Tom  got 
to  do  with  Sir  Keith  Macleod  ?  I  had  forgotten  his  very  ex- 
istence— no  wonder,  after  eight  years  of  absolute  silence." 

But  Carry,  having  fired  this  shot,  was  off  after  other  amu- 
nition. 

"  You  told  him  you  had  sweethearts  before  ?  " 

"  No,  I  did  not,"  said  Miss  Gertrude  White,  warmly,  "  be- 
cause it  isn't  true." 

"  Waiat .?— Mr.  Howson  ?  " 

"  The  orchestra  leader  in  a  provincial  theatre  !  " 

"  Oh  yes  !  but  you  did  not  speak  so  contemptuously  of 
him  then.  Why,  you  made  him  believe  he  was  another  Men- 
delssohn !  " 

"  You  are  talking  nonsense." 

"  And  Mr.  Brook — you  no  doubt  told  him  that  Mr.  Brook 
called  on  papa,  and  asked  him  to  go  down,  to  Doctors'  Com- 
mons and  see  for  himself  what  money  he  would  have " 

"  And  what  then  ?  How  can  I  prevent  any  idiotic  boy  who 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  iSq 

chooses  to  turn  me  into  a  heroine  from  going  and  making  a 
fool  of  himself  ? " 

"  Oh,  Gertrude  White  !  "  said  Carry,  solemnly.  "  Will 
you  sit  there  and  tell  me  you  gave  him  no  encouragement  ?  " 

"  This  is  mere  folly  !  "  the  elder  sister  said,  petulantly;  as 
she  rose-  and  proceeded  to  put  straight  a  few  of  the  things 
about  the  room.  "  I  had  hoped  better  things  of  you,  Carry. 
I  tell  you  of  an  important  step  I  have  taken  in  my  life,  and 
you  bring  out  a  lot  of  tattle  and  nonsense.  However,  I  can 
act  for  myself.  It  is  true,  I  had  imagined  something  different. 
When  I  marry,  of  course,  we  shall  be  separated.  I  had 
looked  forward  to  the  pleasure  of  showing  you  my  new 
home." 

'*  Where  is  it  to  be  ?  " 

"  Wherever  my  husband  wishes  it  to  be,"  she  answered, 
proudly ;  but  there  was  a  conscious  flush  of  color  in  her  face 
as  she  uttered — for  the  first  time — that  word. 

"  In  the  Highlands,  I  suppose,  for  he  is  not  rich  enough 
to  have  two  houses,"  said  Carry ;  which  showed  that  she  had 
been  pondering  over  this  matter  before.  "  And  he  has  al- 
ready got  his  mother  and  his  old-maid  sister,  or  whatever  she 
is,  in  the  house.     You  will  make  a  pretty  family  !  " 

This  was  a  cruel  thrust.  When  Macleod  had  spoken  of 
the  far  home  overlooking  the  Northern  seas,  what  could  be 
n-»re  beautiful  than  his  picture  of  the  noble  and  silver-haired 
dame,  and  of  the  gentle  and  loving  cousin  who  was  the  friend 
and  counsellor  of  the  poor  people  around  }  And  when  he 
had  suggested  that  some  day  or  other  Mr.  White  might  bring 
his  daughter  to  these  remote  regions  to  see  all  the  wonders 
and  the  splendors  of  them,  he  told  her  how  the  beautiful 
mother  would  take  her  to  this  place  and  to  that  place,  and 
how  that  Janet  Macleod  would  pet  and  befriend  her,  and 
perhaps  teach  her  a  few  words  of  the  Gaelic,  that  she  might 
have  a  kindly  phrase  for  the  passer-by.  But  this  picture  of 
Carry's  ! — a  houseful  of  wrangling  women  ! 

If  she  had  had  her  will  just  then,  she  would  instantly 
have  recalled  Macl'eod,  and  placed  his  courage  and  careless 
confidence  between  her  and  this  cruel  criticism.  She  had 
never,  in  truth,  thought  of  these  things.  His  pertinacity 
would  not  allow  her.  He  had  kept  insisting  that  the  only 
point  for  her  to  consider  was  whether  she  had  sufficient  love 
for  him  to  enable  her  to  answer  his  great  love  for  her  with 
the  one  word  "  Yes."  Thereafter,  according  to  his  showing, 
everything  else  was  a  mere   trifle.     Obstacles,   troubles,  de- 


190  MA  CLE  on  OF  DARE. 

lays  ?— he  would  hear  of  nothing  of  the  sort.  And  although, 
while  he  was  present,  she  had  been  inspired  by  something  ol 
this  confident  feeling,  now  when  she  was  attacked  in  his  ab- 
sence she  felt  herself  defenceless. 

"  You  may  be  as  disagreeable  as  you  like,  Cany,"  said 
she,  almost  wearily.  "  I  cannot  help  it.  I  never  could  un 
desrtandy  our  dislike  to  Sir  Keith  Macleod." 

"  Cannot  you  understand,"  said  the  younger  sister,  with 
some  show  of  indignation,  "  that  if  you  are  to  marry  at  all,  I 
should  like  to  see  you  marry  an  Englishman,  instead  of  a 
great  Highland  savage  who  thinks  about  nothing  but  beasts' 
skins.  And  why  should  you  marry  at  all,  Gertrude  White  ? 
I  suppose  he  will  make  you  leave  the  theatre  ;  and  instead 
of  being  a  famous  woman  whom  everybody  admires  and  talks 
about,  you  will  be  plain  Mrs.  Nobody,  hidden  away  in  some 
place,  and  no  one  will  ever  hear  of  you  again  !  Do  you  know 
what  you  are  doing  ?  Did  you  ever  hear  of  any  woman  mak- 
ing such  a  fool  of  herself  before  ?  " 

So  far  from  being  annoyed  by  this  strong  language,  the 
elder  sister  seemed  quite  pleased. 

"  Do  you  know.  Carry,  I  like  to  hear  you  talk  like  that," 
she  said,  with  a  smile.  "  You  almost  persuade  me  that  I  am 
not  asking  him  for  too  great  a  sacrifice,  after  all — " 

"  A  sacrifice  !  On  his  part !  "  exclaimed  the  younger  sis- 
ter ;  and  then  she  added,  with  decision  :  "  but  it  shan't  be, 
Gertrude  White  !     I  will  go  to  papa." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  the  elder  sister,  who  was  nearer  the 
door,  "  you  need  not  trouble  yourself :  I  am  going  now." 

She  went  into  the  small  room  which  was  called  her 
father's  study,  but  which  was  in  reality  a  sort  of  museum. 
She  closed  the  door  behind  her. 

"  I  have  just  had  the  pleasure  of  an  interview  with  Carry, 
papa,"  she  said,  with  a  certain  bitterness  of  tone,  "  and  she 
has  tried  hard  to  make  me  as  miserable  as  I  can  be.  If  I 
am  to  have  another  dose  of  it  from  you,  papa,  I  may  as  well 
have  it  at  once.  I  have  promised  to  marry  Sir  Keith  Mac- 
leod." 

She  sank  down  in  an  easy-chair.  There  w^as  a  look  on 
her  face  which  plainly  said,  "  Now  do  your  worst;  I  cannot 
be  more  wretched  than  I  am." 

"  You  have  promised  to  marry  Sir  Keith  Macleod  .'' "  he 
repeated,  slowly,  and  fixing  his  eyes  on  her  face. 

He  did  not  break  into  any  rage,  and  accuse  Macleod  of 
treachery  or  her  of  filial  disobedience.     He  knew  that  she 


MA  CLEOD  OF  DA KE.  i  (^  i 

was  familiar  with  that  kind  of  thing.  What  he  had  to  deal 
with  was  the  immediate  future,  not  the  past. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  with  the  same  deliberation  of  tone,  "  I 
suppose  you  have  not  come  to  me  for  advice,  since  you  have 
acL(;d  so  "far  for  yourself.  If  I  were  to  give  you  advice,  how- 
ever, it  would  be  to  break  your  promise  as  soon  as  you  de- 
cently can,  both  for  his  sake  and  for  your  own." 

"  I  thought  you  would  say  so,"  she  said,  with  a  sort  of 
desperate  mirth.  "  I  came  to  have  all  my  wretchedness 
heaped  on  me  at  once.  It  is  a  very  pleasing  sensation.  I 
wonder  if  I  could  express  it  on  the  stage.  That  would  be 
making  use  of  my  new  experiences — as  you  have  taught 
me " 

But  here  she  burst  into  tears  ;  and  then  got  up  and 
walked  impatiently  about  the  room ;  and  finally  dried  her 
eyes,  with  shame  and  mortification  visible  on  her  face. 

"  What  have  you  to  say  to  me,  papa  ?  I  am  a  fool  to  mind 
what  a  schoolgirl  says." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  have  anything  to  say,"  he  observed, 
calmly.     "  You  know  your  own  feelings  best." 

And  then  he  regarded  her  attentively. 

"  I  suppose  when  you  marry  you  will  give  up  the  stage." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  I  should  doubt,"  he  said,  with  quite  a  dispassionate  air, 
"  your  being  able  to  play  one  part  for  a  lifetime.  You  might 
get  tired — and  that  would  be  awkward  for  your  husband  and 
yourself.  I  don't  say  anything  about  your  giving  up  all  your 
prospects,  although  I  had  great  pride  in  you  and  a  slill 
greater  hope.  That  is  for  your  own  consideration.  If  you 
think  you  will  be  happier — if  you  are  sure  you  will  have  no 
regret — if,  as  I  say,  you  think  you  can  play  the  one  part  for 
a  lifetime — well  and  good." 

"  And  you  are  right,"  she  said,  bitterly,  "  to  speak  of  me 
as  an  actress,  and  not  as  a  human  being.  I  must  be  playing 
a  jiart  to  the  end,  I  suppose.  Perhaps  so.  Well,  I  hope  1 
shall  please  my  smaller  audience  as  well  as  I  seem  to  have 
pleased  the  bigger  one. 

Then  she  altered  her  tone. 

"  I  told  you,  papa,  the  other  day  of  my  having  seen  that 
child  run  over  and  brought  back  to  the  woman  who  was 
standing  on  the  pavement." 

"  Yes,"  said  he  ;  but  wondering  why  this  incident  should 
be  referred  to  at  such  a  moment. 


lv^2  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"  I  did  not  tell  you  the  truth — at  least  the  whole  truth. 
When  I  walked  away,  what  was  I  thinking  of  ?  I  caught  my- 
self trying  to  recall  the  way  in  which  the  woman  threw  her 
arms  up  when  she  saw  the  dead  body  of  her  child,  and  I  was 
wondering  whether  I  could  repeat  it.  Andt  hen  I  began  to 
wonder  whether  I  was  a  devil — or  a  woman." 

"  Bah  !  "  said  he.  "  That  is  a  craze  you  have  at  present. 
You  have  had  fifty  others  before.  What  I  am  afraid  of  is 
that,  at  the  instigation  of  some  such  temporary  fad,  you  will 
take  a  step  that  you  will  find  irrevocable.  Just  think  it  over, 
Gerty.  If  you  leave  the  stage,  you  will  destroy  many  a  hope 
I  had  formed  ;  but  that  doesn't  matter.  Whatever  is  most 
for  your  happiness — that  is  the  only  point." 

"  And  so  you  have  given  me  your  congratulations,  papa," 
she  said,  rising.  "  1  have  been  so  thoroughly  trained  to  be 
an  actress  that,  when  I  marry,  I  shall  only  go  from  one  stage 
to  another." 

"  That  was  only  a  figure  of  speech,"  said  he. 
"At  all  events,"  she  said,  "  I  shall  not  be  vexed  by  petty 
jealousies  of  other  actresses,  and  1  shall  cease  to  be  worried 
and  humiliated  by  what  they  say  about  me  in  the   provincial 
newspapers." 

"  As  for  the  newspapers,"  he  retorted,  "  you  have  little  to 
complain  of.  They  have  treated  you  very  well.  And  even  if 
they  annoyed  you  by  a  phrase  here  or  there,  surely  the  rem- 
edy is  simple.  You  need  not  read  them.  You  don't  require 
any  recommendation  to  the  public  now.  As  for  your  jeal- 
ousy of  other  actresses — that  was  always  an  unreasonable 

vexation  on  your  part " 

"  Yes,  and  that  only  made  it  the  more  humiliating  to  my- 
self," said  she,  quickly. 

"  But  think  of  this,"  said  he.  "  You  are  married. 
You  have  been  long  away  from  the  scene  of  your  former 
triumphs.  Some  day  you  go  to  the  theatre  ;  and  you  find  as 
the  favorite  of  the  public  a  woman  who,  you  can  see,  cannot 
come  near  to  what  you  used  to  do.  And  I  suppose  you  won't 
be  jealous  of  her,  and  anxious  to  defeat  her  on  the  old 
ground." 

"  I  can  do  with  that  as  you  suggested  about  the  news- 
papers :  I  need  not  go  to  the  theatre." 

"  Very  well,  Gerty.  I  hope  all  will  be  for  the  best.  But 
do  not  be  in  a  hurry  ;  take  time  and  consider." 

She  saw  clearly  enough  that  this  calm  acquiescence  was 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  ip3 

all  the  congratulation  or  advice  she  was  likely  to  get ;  and 
she  went  to  the  door. 

"Papa,"  said  she,  diffidently,  "  Sir  Keith  Macleod  is  com- 
ing up  to-morrow  morning — to  go  to  church  with  us." 
"  Yes  ?  "  said  he,  indifferently. 
**  He  may  speak  to  you  before  we  go." 
"  Very  well.     Of  course  I  have  nothing  to  say  in  the  mat- 
ter.    You  are  mistress  of  your  own  actions." 

She  went  to  her  own  room,  and  locked  herself  in,  feeling 
very  lonely,  and  disheartened,  and  miserable.  There  was 
more  to  alarm  her  in  her  father's  faintly  expressed  doubts 
than  in  all  Carry's  vehement  opposition  and  taunts.  Why 
had  Macleod  left  her  alone  ? — if  only  she  could  see  him  laugh, 
her  courage  would  be  reassured. 

Then  she  bethought  her  that  this  was  not  a  fit  mood  for 
one  who  had  promised  to  be  the  wife  of  a  Macleod.  She 
went  to  the  mirror  and  regarded  herself  ;  and  almost  uncon- 
sciously an  expression  of  pride  and  resolve  appeared  about 
the  lines  of  her  mouth.  And  she  would  show  to  herself  that 
she  had  still  a  woman's  feelings  by  going  out  and  doing  some 
actual  work  of  charity ;  she  would  prove  to  herself  that  the 
constant  simulation  of  noble  emotions  had  not  deadened 
them  in  her  own  nature.  She  put  on  her  hat  and  shawl, 
and  went  downstairs,  and  went  out  into  the  free  air  and  the 
sunlight — without  a  word  to  either  Carry  or  her  father.  She 
was  trying  to  imagine  herself  as  having  already  left  the  stage 
and  all  its  fictitious  allurements.  She  was  now  Lady  Bounti- 
ful :  having  looked  after  the  simple  cares  of'  her  household 
she  was  now  ready  to  cast  her  eyes  abroad,  and  relieve  in  so 
far  as  she  might  the  distress  around  her.  The  first  object  of 
charity  she  encountered  was  an  old  crossing-sweeper.  She 
addressed  him  in  a  matter-of-fact  way  which  was  intended 
to  conceal  her  fluttering  self-consciousness.  She  inquired 
whether  he  had  a  wife  ;  whether  he  had  any  children  ;  whether 
they  were  not  rather  jDoor.  And  having  been  answered 
in  the  affirmative  on  all  these  points,  she  surprised  the  old 
man  by  giving  him  five  shillings  and  telling  him  to  go  home 
and  get  a  good  warm  dinner  for  his  family.  She  passed  on, 
and  did  not  observe  that,  as  soon  as  her  back  was  turned, 
the  old  wretch  made  straight  for  the  nearest  public-house. 

But  her  heart  was  happy  ;  and  her  courage  rose.  It  was 
not  for  nothing,  then,  that  she  had  entertained  the  bold  re- 
solve of  casting  aside  forever  the  one  great  ambition  of  her 
life — with  all  its  intoxicating  successes,  and  hopes,  and  strug- 


1(^4  MACLEOD  OF  DAK E. 

gles — for  the  homely  and  simple  duties  of  an  ordinary  wo- 
man's existence.  It  was  not  in  vain  that  she  had  read  and 
dreamed  of  the  far  romantic  land,  and  had  ventured  to  think 
of  herself  as  the  proud  wife  of  Macleod  of  Dare.  Those 
fierce  deeds  of  valor  and  vengeance  that  had  terrified  and 
thrilled  her  would  now  become  part  of  her  own  inheritance  -, 
why,  she  could  tell  her  friends,  when  they  came  to  see 
her,  of  all  the  old  legends  and  fairy  stories  that  belonged  to 
her  own  home.  And  the  part  of  Lady  Bountiful — surely,  if 
she  must  play  some  part  that  was  the  one  she  would  most 
dearly  like  to  play.  And  the  years  would  go  by  ;  and  she 
would  grow  silver-haired  too  ;  and  when  she  lay  on  her  death- 
bed she  would  take  her  husband's  hand  and  say,  "  Have  I 
lived  the  life  you  wished  me  to  live .?  "  Her  cheerfulness 
grew  apace  ;  and  the  walking,  and  the  sunshine,  and  the 
fresh  air  brought  a  fine  light  and  color  to  her  eyes  and  cheeks. 
There  was  a  song  singing  through  her  head  ;  and  it  was  all 
about  the  brave  Glenogie  whe  rode  up  the  king's  ha'. 

But  as  she  turned  the  corner  of  a  street,  her  eye  rested 
on  a  huge  colored  placard — rested  but  for  a  moment,  for  she 
would  not  look  on  the  great,  gaudy  thing.  Just  at  this  time 
a  noble  lord  had  shown  his  interest  in  the  British  drama  by 
spending  an  enormous  amount  of  money  in  producing,  at  a 
theatre  of  his  own  building,  a  spectacular  burlesque,  the 
gorgeousness  of  which  surpassed  anything  that  had  ever 
been  done  in  that  way.  And  the  lady  who  appeared  to  be 
playing  (in  silence  mostly)  the  chief  part  in  this  hash  of  glar- 
mg  color  and  roaring  music  and  clashing  armor  had  gained 
a  great  celebrity  by  reason  of  her  handsome  figure,  and  the 
splendor  of  her  costume,  and  the  magnificence  of  the  real 
diamonds  that  she  wore.  All  London  was  talking  of  her ; 
and  the  vast  theatre — even  in  November — was  nightly 
crammed  to  overflowing.  As  Gertrude  White  walked  back  to 
her  home  her  heart  was  filled  with  bitterness.  She  had 
caught  sight  of  the  ostentatious  placard  ;  and  she  knew  that 
the  photograph  of  the  creature  who  was  figuring  there  was 
in  every  stationer's  shop  in  the  Strand.  And  that  which 
galled  her  was  not  that  the  theatre  should  be  so  taken  and 
so  used,  but  that  the  stage  heroine  of  the  hour  should  be  a 
woman  who  could  act  no  more  than  any  baboon  in  the  Zoolo- 
gical Gardens. 


MACLEOD  OF  n ARE.  195 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

IN   SUSSEX. 

But  as  for  him,  there  was  no  moderation  at  all  in  the 
vehemence  of  his  joy.  In  the  surprise  and  bewilderment  of 
it,  the  world  around  him  underwent  transfiguration ;  London 
in  November  was  glorified  into  an  earthly  paradise.  The 
very  people  in  the  streets  seemed  to  have  kindly  faces  ; 
Bury  Street,  St.  James's — which  is  usually  a  somewhat  misty 
thoroughfare— >was  more  beautiful  than  the  rose-garden  of  an 
Eastern  king.  And  on  this  Saturday  afternoon  the  blue 
skies  did,  indeed,  continue  to  shine  over  the  great  city  ;  and 
the  air  seemed  sweet  and  clear  enough,  as  it  generally  does 
to  any  one  whose  every  heart-beat  is  only  another  throb  of 
conscious  gladness. 

In  this  first  intoxication  of  wonder,  and  pride,  and  grati- 
tude,he  had  forgotten  all  about  these  ingenious  theories  which, 
in  former  days,  he  had  constructed  to  prove  to  himself  that 
Gertrude  White  should  give  up  her  present  way  of  life.  Was 
it  true,  then,  that  he  had  rescued  the  white  slave  ?  Was  it 
once  and  forever  that  Nature,  encountering  the  subtle  demon 
of  Art,  had  closed  and  wrestled  with  the  insidious  thing,  had 
seized  it  by  the  throat,  and  choked  it,  and  flung  it  aside  from 
the  fair  roadway  of  life  ?  He  had  forgotten  about  these 
things  now.  All  that  he  was  conscious  of  was  this  eager 
joy,  with  now  and  again  a  wild  wonder  that  he  should  in- 
deed have  acquired  so  priceless  a  possession.  Was  it  possible 
that  she  would  really  withdraw  herself  from  the  eyes  of  all 
the  world  and  give  herself  to  him  alone  ? — that  some  day,  in 
the  beautiful  and  laughing  future,  the  glory  of  her  presence 
would  light  up  the  dull  halls  of  Castle  Dare  ? 

Of  course  he  poured  all  his  pent-up  confidence  into  the  ear 
of  the  astonished  major,  and  again  and  again  expressed  his 
gratitude  to  his  companion  for  having  given  him  the  oppor- 
tunity of  securing  this  transcendent  happiness.  The  major  was 
somewhat  frightened.  He  did  not  know,  in  what  measure  he 
might  be  regarded  as  an  accomplice  by  the  silver-haired  lady 
of  Castle  Dare.  And  in  any  case  he  was  alarmed  by  the 
vehemence  of  the  young  man. 


196  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"  My  dear  Macleod,"  said  he,  with  an  oracular  air,  "you 
never  have  any  hold  on  yourself.  You  fling  the  reins  on  the 
horse's  neck,  and  gallop  down  hill ;  a  very  slight  check  would 
send  you  whirling  to  the  bottom.  Now,  you  should  take  the 
advice  of  a  man  of  the  world,  who  is  older  than  you,  and 
who — if  I  may  say  so — has  kept  his  eyes  open.  I  don't  want 
to  discourage  you  ;  but  you  should  take  it  for  granted  that 
accidents  may  happen.  I  would  feel  the  reins  a  little  bit,  if 
I  were  you.  Once  you've  got  her  into  the  church,  and  see  her 
with  a  white  veil  over  her  head,  then  you  may  be  as  per- 
fervid  as  you  like " 

And  so  the  simple-minded  major  prattled  on,  Macleod 
paying  but  little  heed.  There  had  been  nothing  about  Major 
Stuart's  courtship  and  marriage  to  shake  the  world  :  why,  he 
said  to  himself,  when  the  lady  was  pleased  to  lend  a  favoring 
ear,  was  there  any  reason  for  making  such  a  fuss  ? 

*'  Your  happiness  will  all  depend  on  one  thing,"  said  he 
to  Macleod,  with  a  complacent  wisdom  in  the  round  and 
jovial  face^  "  Take  my  word  for  it.  I  hear  of  people  study- 
ing the  character,  the  compatibilities,  and  what  not,  of  other 
people  ;  but  I  never  knew  of  a  young  man  thinking  of  such 
things  when  he  was  in  love.  He  plunges  in,  and  finds  out 
afterward.  Now  it  all  comes  this — is  she  likely,  or  not  likely, 
to  prove  a  sigher  ?  " 

"  A  what  ?  "  said  Macleod,  apparently  awakening  from  a 
trance. 

"  A  sigher.  A  woman  who  goes  about  the  house  all  day 
sighing,  whether  over  your  sins  or  her  own,  she  won't  tell 
you." 

"  Indeed,  I  cannot  say,"  Macleod  said,  laughing.  "  I 
should  hope  not.     I  think  she  has  excellent  spirits." 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  major,  thoughtfully ;  and  he  himself 
sighed.  Perhaps  he  was  thinking  of  a  certain  house  far  away 
in  Mull,  to  which  he  had  shortly  to  return. 

Macleod  did  not  know  how  to  show  his  gratitude  toward 
this  good-natured  friend.  He  would  have  given  him  half  a 
dozen  banquets  a  day ;  and  Major  Stuart  liked  a  London 
dinner.  But  what  he  did  offer  as  a  great  reward  was  this  : 
that  Major  Stuart  should  go  up  the  next  morning  to  a  par- 
ticular church,  and  take  up  a  particular  position  in  that 
church,  and  then — ^then  he  would  get  a  glimpse  of  the  most 
wonderful  creature  the  world  had  seen.  Oddly  enough,  the 
major  did  not  eagerly  accept  this  munificent  offer.  To  an- 
other proposal— -that  he  should  go  up  to  Mr.  White's,  on  the 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  197 

first  day  after  their  return  from  Sussex,  and  meet  the  young 
lady  at  luncheon — he  seemed  better  inclined. 

*'  But  why  shouldn't  we  go  to  the  theatre  to-night  ?  "  said 
he,  in  his  simple  way. 

Macleod  looked  embarrassed. 

"Frankly,  then,  Stuart,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  want  you  to 
make  her  acquaintance  as  an  actress." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  he,  not  greatly  disappointed. 
"  Perhaps  it  is  better.  You  see,  I  may  be  questioned  at 
Castle  Dare.     Have  you  considered  that  matter  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,"  Macleod  said,  lightly  and  cheerfully,  "  I  have 
had  time  to  consider  nothing  as  yet.  I  can  scarcely  believe 
it  to  be  all  real.  It  takes  a  deal  of  hard  thinking  to  convince 
myself  that  I  am  not  dreaming." 

But  the  true  fashion  in  which  Macleod  showed  his  grati- 
tude to  his  friend  was  in  concealing  his  great  reluctance  on 
going  down  with  him  into  Sussex.  It  was  like  rending  his 
heart-strings  for  him  to  leave  London  for  a  single  hour  at  this 
time.  What  beautiful  confidences,  and  tender,  timid  looks, 
and  sweet,  small  words  he  was  leaving  behind  him  in  order 
to  go  and  shoot  a  lot  of  miserable  pheasants  !  He  was  rather 
gloomy  when  he  met  the  major  at  Victoria  Station.  They 
got  into  the  train ;  and  away  through  the  darkness  of  the 
November  afternoon  they  rattled  to  Three  Bridges ;  but  all 
the  eager  sportsman  had  gone  out  of  him,  and  he  had  next 
to  nothing  to  say  in  answer  to  the  major's  excited  questions. 
Occasionally  he  would  rouse  himself  from  this  reverie,  and 
he  would  talk  in  a  perfunctory  sort  of  fashion  about  the  im- 
mediate business  of  a  moment.  He  confessed  that  he  had 
a  certain  theoretical  repugnance  to  a  battue^  if  it  were  at  all 
like  what  people  in  the  newspapers  declared  it  to  be.  On  the 
other  hand,  he  could  not  well  understand — judging  by  his 
experiences  in  the  highlands — how  the  shooting  of  driven 
birds  could  be  so  marvellously  easy  ;  and  he  was  not  quite 
sure  that  the  writers  he  had  referred  to  had  had  many  oppor- 
tunities of  practising,  or  even  observing,  so  very  expensive 
an  amusement.  Major  Stuart,  for  his  part,  freely  admitted 
that  he  had  no  scruples  whatever.  Shooting  birds,  he  roundly 
declared,  was  shooting  birds,  whether  you  shot  tVv'O  or  two 
score.  And  he  demurely  hinted  that,  if  he  had  his  choice, 
he  would  rather  shoot  the  two  score. 

"  Mind  you,  Stuart,"  Macleod  said,  "  if  we  are  posted 
anywhere  near  each  other — mind  you  shoot  at  any  bird  that 
comes  my  way.     I  should  like  you  to  make  a  big  bag  that 


igS  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

you  may  talk  about  in  Mull ;  and  I  really  don't  care  about 
it." 

And  this  was  the  man  whom  Miss  Carry  had  described  as 
being  nothing  but  a  slayer  of  wild  animals  and  a  preserver  of 
beasts'  skins  !  Perhaps,  in  that  imaginary  duel  between  Na 
ture  and  Art,  the  enemy  was  not  so  thoroughly  beaten  and 
thrown  aside,  after  all. 

So  they  got  to  Three  Bridges,  and  there  they  found  the 
carriage  awaiting  them  ;  and  presently  they  were  whirling 
away  along  the  dark  roads,  with  the  lamps  shining  alternately 
on  a  line  of  hedge  or  on  a  long  stretch  of  ivied  brick  wall. 
And  at  last  they  passed  a  lodge  gate,  and  drove  through  a 
great  and  silent  park;  and  finally,  rattling  over  the  gravel, 
drew  up  in  front  of  some  gray  steps  and  a  blaze  of  light  com- 
ing from  tl^e  wide-open  doors.  Under  Lord  Beauregard's 
guidance,  they  went  into  the  drawing-room,  and  found  a 
number  of  people  idly  chatting  there,  or  reading  by  the  sub- 
dued light  of  the  various  lamps  on  the  small  tables.  There 
was  a  good  deal  of  ta^k  about  the  weather.  Macleod,  vaguely 
conscious  that  these  people  were  only  strangers,  and  that  the 
one  heart  that  was  thinking  of  him  was  now  far  away,  paid 
but  little  heed  ;  if  he  had  been  told  that  the  barometer  pre- 
dicted fifteen  thunder-storms  for  the  morrow,  he  would  have 
been  neither  startled  nor  dismayed. 

But  he  managed  to  say  to  his  host,  aside  : — 

^'  Beauregard,  look  here.  I  suppose,  in  this  sort  of  shoot- 
ing, you  have  some  little  understanding  with  your  head- 
keeper  about  the  posts — who  is  to  be  a  bit  favored,  you  know. 
Weil,  I  wish  you  would  ask  him  to  look  after  my  friend 
Stuart.     He  can  leave  me  out  altogether,  if  he  likes." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  there  will  be  scarcely  any  difference ; 
but  I  will  look  after  your  friend  myself.  I  suppose  you  have 
no  guns  with  you  ?  " 

"  1  have  borrowed  Ogilvie's.     Stuart  has  none." 

^^  I  Will  get  one  for  him." 

By  and  by  they  went  upstairs  to  their  respective  rooms, 
and  Macleod  was  left  alone,  that  is  to  say,  he  was  scarcely 
aware  of  the  presence  of  the  man  who  was  opening  his  port- 
manteau and  putting  out  his  things.  He  lay  back  in  the  low 
easy-chair,  and  stared  absently  into  the  blazing  fire.  This 
was  a  beautiful  but  a  lonely  house.  There  were  many  stran- 
gers in  it.  But  if  she  had  been  one  of  the  people  below — if 
he  could  at  this  moment  look  forward  to  meeting  her  at  din- 
ner— if  there  was  a  chance   of  his  sitting  beside  her  and  lis- 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  ic)9 

tening  to  the  low  and  sweet  voice — with  what  an  eager  joy 
he  would  have  waited  for  the  sound  of  the  bell !  As  it  was, 
his  heart  was  in  London.  He  had  no  sort  of  interest  in  this 
big  house,  or  in  the  strangers  whom  he  had  met,  or  in  the 
proceedings  of  the  morrow,  about  which  all  the  men  were 
talking.     It  was  a  lonely  house. 

He  was  aroused  by  a  tapping  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  he  said,  and  Major  Stuart  entered,  blooming 
and  roseate  over  his  display  of  white  linen. 

"  Good  gracious  ! "  said  he,  "  aren't  you  dressed  yet  ?  It 
wants  but  ten  minutes  to  dinner-time.  What  have  you  been 
doing  t  " 

Macleod  jumped  up  with  some  shamefacedness,  and  be- 
gan to  array  himself  quickly. 

"  Macleod,"  said  the  major,  subsiding  into  the  big  arm- 
chair very  carefully  so  as  not  to  crease  his  shining  shirt-front, 
"  I  must  give  you  another  piece  of  advice.  It  is  serious.  I 
have  heard  again  and  again  that  when  a  man  thinks  only  of 
one  thing — when  he  keeps  brooding  over  it  day  and  night — 
he  is  bound  to  become  mad.  They  call  it  monomania.  You 
are  becoming  a  monomaniac." 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  am,"  Macleod  said,  laughing ;  "  but  it  is 
a  very  pleasant  sort  of  monomania,  and  I  am  not  anxious  to 
become  sane.  But  you  really  must  not  be  hard  on  me, 
Stuart.  You  know  that  this  is  rather  an  important  thing  that 
has  happened  to  me  ;  and  it  wants  a  good  deal  of  thinking 
over." 

"  Bah  !  "  the  major  cried,  "  why  take  it  so  much  mi  grand 
serieux  ?  A  girl  likes  you  ;  says  she'll  marry  you  ;  probably, 
if  she  continues  in  the  same  mind,  she  will.  Consider  your 
self  a  lucky  dog  ;  and  don't  break  your  heart  if  an  accident 
occurs.  Hope  for  the  best — that  you  and  she  mayn't  quarrel, 
and  that  she  mayn't  prove  a  sigher.  Now  what  do  you  think 
of  this  house  ?  I  consider  it  an  uncommon  good  dodge  to 
put  each  person's  name  outside  his  bedroom  door ;  there 
can't  be  any  confounded  mistakes — and  women  squealing — • 
if  you  come  up  late  at  night.  Why,  Macleod,  you  don't  mean 
that  this  affair  has  destroyed  all  your  interest  in  the  shoot- 
ing ?  Man,  I  have  been  down  to  the  gun-room  with  your 
friend  Beauregard  ;  have  seen.  tl>e  head-keeper ;  got  a  gun 
that  suits  me  firstrate — a  trifle  long  in  the  stock,  perhaps, 
but  no  matter.  You  won't  tip  any  more  than  the  head-keeper, 
eh  ?  And  the  fellow  who  carries  your  cartridge-bag  ?  I  do 
Ihink  it  uncommonly  civil  of  a  man  not  only  to  ask  you  to  go 


200  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

shooting,  but  to  find  you  in  guns  and  cartridges ;  don't 
you  ? " 

The  major  chatted  on  with  great  cheerfulness.  He 
clearly  considered  that  he  had  got  into  excellent  quarters. 
At  dinner  he  told  some  of  his  most  famous  Indian  stories  to 
Lady  Beauregard,  near  whom  he  was  sitting ;  and  at  night, 
in  the  improvised  smoking-room,  he  was  great  on  deer-stalk- 
ing. It  was  not  necessary  for  Macleod,  or  anybody  else,  to 
talk.  The  major  was  in  full  flow,  though  he  stoutly  refused 
to  touch  the  spirits  on  the  table.  He  wanted  a  clear  head 
and  a  steady  hand  for  the  morning. 

Alas !  alas !  The  next  morning  presented  a  woful 
spectacle.  Gray  skies  ;  heavy  and  rapidly  drifting  clouds  ; 
pouring  rain  ;  runnels  of  clear  water  by  the  side  of  every 
gravel-path ;  a  rook  or  two  battling  with  the  squally  south- 
wester  high  over  the  wide  and  desolate  park  :  the  wild-ducks 
at  the  margin  of  the  ruffled  lake  flapping  their  wings  as  if  the 
wet  was  too  much  even  for  them  ;  nearer  at  hand  the  flrs  and 
evergreens  all  dripping.  After  breakfast  the  male  guests 
wandered  disconsolately  into  the  cold  billiard-room,  and  be- 
gan knocking  the  balls  about.  All  the  loquacious  cheerful- 
ness of  the  major  had  fled.  He  looked  out  on  the  wet  park 
and  the  sombre  woods,  and  sighed. 

But  about  twelve  o'clock  there  was  a  great  hurry  and  con- 
fusion throughout  the  house  ;  for  all  of  a  sudden  the  skies  in 
the  west  cleared ;  there  was  a  glimmer  of  blue;  and  then 
gleams  of  a  pale  wan  light  began  to  stream  over  the  land- 
scape. There  was  a  rush  to  the  gun-room,  and  an  eager 
putting  on  of  shooting-boots  and  leggings ;  there  was  a  rapid 
tying  up  of  small  packages  of  sandwiches  ;  presently  the 
wagonette  was  at  the  door.  And  then  away  they  went  over 
the  hard  gravel,  and  out  into  the  wet  roads,  with  the  sunlight 
now  beginning  to  light  up  the  beautiful  woods  about  Crawley. 
The  horses  seemed  to  know  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  A 
new  spirit  took  possession  of  the  party.  The  major's  face 
glowed  as  red  as  the  hip  that  here  and  there  among  the  al- 
most leafless  hedges  shone  in  the  sunlight  on  the  ragged 
brier  stem. 

And  yet  it  was  about  one  o'clock  before  the  work  of  the 
day  began,  for  the  beaters  had  to  be  summoned  from  various 
parts,  and  the  small  boys  with  the  white  flags — the  "  stops" 
— had  to  be  posted  so  as  to  check  runners.  And  then  the 
six  guns  went  down  over  a  .-ploughed  field — half  clay  and 
half  chalk,  and  ankle  deep — to  the  margin  of  a  rapidly  run- 


MaJLEOD  of  dare.  201 

ning  and  cofFee-colored  stream,  which  three  of  them  had  to 
cross  by  means  of  a  very  shaky  plank.  Lord  Beauregard, 
Major  Stuart,  and  Macleod  remained  on  this  side,  keeping 
a  look-out  for  a  straggler,  but  chiefly  concerned  with  the 
gradually  opening  and  brightening  sky.  Then  far  away 
they  heard  a  slight  tapping  on  the  trees  ;  and  almost  at  the 
same  moment  another  sound  caused  the  hearts  of  the  two 
novices  to  jump.  It  was  a  quick  cuck-cuck,  accompanied  by 
a  rapid  and  silk^  winnowing  of  the  air.  Then  an  object,  which 
seemed  like  a  cannon-ball  with  a  long  tail  attached,  came  whiz- 
zing along.  Major  Stuart  fired — a  bad  miss.  Then  he  wheeled 
round,  took  good  aim,  and  down  came  a  mass  of  feathers, 
whirling,  until  it  fell  motionless  on  the  ground. 

"  Well  hit  !  "  Macleod  cried  ;  but  at  the  same  moment 
he  became  conscious  that  he  had  better  mind  his  own  busi- 
ness, for  there  was  another  whirring  sound,  and  then  he  saw 
this  rapidly  enlarging  object  coming  straight  at  him.  He 
fired,  and  shot  the  bird  dead  ;  but  so  rapid  was  its  flight 
that  he  had  to  duck  his  head  as  the  slain  bird  drove  past  his 
face  and  tumbled  on  to  the  ground  behind  him. 

"This  is  rather  like  firing  at  bomb-shells,"  he  called  out 
to  Lord  Beauregard. 

It  was  certainly  a  new  experience  for  Macleod  to  figure 
as  a  novice  in  any  matter  connected  with  shooting;  but  both 
the  major  and  he  speedily  showed  that  they  were  not  unfamil- 
iar with  the  use  hi  a  gun.  Whether  the  birds  came  at  them 
like  bomb-shells,  or  sprung  like  a  sky-rocket  through  the 
leafless  branches,  they  met  with  the  same  polite  attention; 
though  occasionally  one  would  double  back  on  the  beaters 
and  get  clear  away,  sailing  far  into  the  silver-clear  sky. 
I^ord  Beauregard  scarcely  shot  at  all,  unless  he  was  fairly 
challenged  by  a  bird  flying  right  past  him  :  he  seemed  quite 
content  to  see  his  friends  having  plenty  of  work  ;  while,  in 
the  interest  of  the  beaters,  he  kept  calling  out,  in  a  high 
monotone,  "  Shoot  high  !  shoot  high !  "  Then  there  was 
some  motion  among  the  brushwood ;  here  and  there  a  man 
or  boy  appeared  ;  and  finally  the  under-keeper  with  his  re- 
triever came  across  the  stream  to  pick  up  the  dead  birds. 
That  bit  was  done  with  :  vor7varts  ! 

"Well,  Stuart,"  Macleod  said,  "what  do  you  think  of  it? 
I  don't  see  anything  murderous  or  unsportsmanlike  in  this 
kind  of  shooting.  Of  course  shooting  with  dogs  is  much 
prettier ;  and  you   don't  get  any  exercise  standing  in  a  wet 


202  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

field ;  but  the  man  who   says  that  shooting  those  birds  re- 
quires no  skill  at  all — well,  I  should  like  see  him  try." 

"  Macleod,"  said  the  major,  gravely,  as  they  plodded 
along,  "  you  may  think  that  I  despise  this  kind  of  thing ; 
but  I  don't :  I  give  you  my  solemn  word  of  honor  that  I  don't. 
I  will  even  go  the  length  of  saying  that  if  Pi  ovidence  had 
blessed  me  with  ;^2o,ooo  a  year,  I  should  be  quite  content  to 
own  a  bit  of  country  like  this.  I  played  the  part  of  the  wild 
mountaineer  last  night,  you  know ;  that  was  all  very  well — " 

Here  there  was  a  loud  call  from  Lord  Beauregard,  who 
had  overtaken  them — "  Hare  !  hare  !  Mat'k  hare  ?  "  The 
major  jumped  round,  put  up  his  gun,  and  banged  away — 
shooting  far  ahead  in  his  eagerness.  Macleod  looked  on, 
and  did  not  even  raise  his  gun. 

"  That  comes  of  talking,"  the  major  said,  gloomily.  "  And 
you — why  didn't  you  shoot  "i  I  never  saw  you  miss  a  hare  in 
my  life." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  it,"  Macleod  said,  indifferently. 

It  was  very  soon  apparent  that  he  was  thinking  of  some- 
thing other  than  the  shooting  of  pheasants  or  hares  ;  for  as 
they  went  from  one  wood  to  another  during  this  beautiful 
brief  November  day  he  generally  carried  his  gun  over  his 
shoulder — even  when  the  whirring,  bright-plumaged  birds 
were  starting  from  time  to  time  from  the  hedgerows — and 
devoted  most  of  his  attention  to  warning  his  friend  when 
and  where  to  shoot.  However,  an  incident  occurred  which 
entirely  changed  the  aspect  of  affairs.  At  one  beat  he  was 
left  quite  alone,  posted  in  an  open  space  of  low  brushwood 
close  by  the  corner  of  a  wood.  He  rested  the  butt  of  his 
gun  on  his  foot ;  he  was  thinking,  not  of  any  pheasant  or 
hare,  but  of  the  beautiful  picture  Gertrude  White  would  make 
if  she  were  coming  down  one  of  these  open  glades,  between 
the  green  stems  of  the  trees,  with  the  sunlight  around  her 
and  the  fair  sky  overhead.  Idly  he  watched  the  slowly  drift- 
ing clouds  ;  they  were  going  away  northward — by  and  by 
they  would  sail  over  London.  The  rifts  of  blue  widened  in 
the  clear  silver ;  surely  the  sunlight  would  now  be  shining 
over  Regent's  Park.  Occasionally  a  pheasant  came  clatter- 
ing along ;  he  only  regarded  the  shining  colors  of  its  head 
and  neck  brilliant  in  the  sunlight.  A  rabbit  trotted  by  him  ; 
he  let  it  go.  But  while  he  was  standing  thus,  and  vaguely 
listening  to  the  rattle  of  guns  on  the  other  side,  he  was  sud- 
denly startled  by  a  quick  cry  of  pain ;  and  he  thought  he 
heard  some  one  call,  "  Macleod  !  Macleod  !  "     Instantly  he 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


203 


put  his  gun  against  a  bush,  and  ran.  He  found  a  hedge  at 
the  end  of  the  wood ;  he  drove  through  it,  and  got  into  the 
open  field.  There  was  the  unlucky  major,  with  blood  run- 
ning down  his  face,  a  handkerchief  in  his  hand,  and  two  men 
beside  him,  one  of  them  offering  him  some  brandy  from  a 
flask.  However,  after  the  first  fright  was  over,  it  was  seen 
that  Major  Stuart  was  but  slightly  hurt.  The  youngest  mem- 
ber of  the  party  had  fired  at  a  bird  coming  out  of  the  wood  ; 
had  missed  it ;  had  tried  to  wheel  round  to  send  the  second 
barrel  after  it ;  but  his  feet,  having  sunk  into  the  wet  clay, 
had  caught  there,  and,  in  his  stumbling  fall,  somehow  or 
other  the  second  barrel  went  off,  one  pellet  just  catching  the 
major  under  the  eye.  The  surface  wound  caused  a  good 
shedding  of  blood,  but  that  was  all ;  and  when  the  major 
had  got  his  face  washed  he  shouldered  his  gun  again,  and 
with  indomitable  pluck  said  he  would  see  the  thing  out.  It 
was  nothing  but  a  scratch,  he  declared.  It  might  have  been 
dangerous  ;  but  what  was  the  good  of  considering  what  might 
have  been  ?  To  the  young  man  who  had  been  the  cause  of 
the  accident,  and  who  was  quite  unable  to  express  his  pro- 
found sorrow  and  shame,  he  was  generously  considerate, 
saying  that  he  had  fined  him  in  the  sum  of  one  penny  when 
he  took  a  postage-stamp  to  cover  the  wound. 

"  Lord  Beauregard,"  said  he,  cheerfully,  "  I  want  you  to 
show  me  a  thorough-going  hot  corner.  You  know  I  am  an 
ignoramus  of  this  kind  of  thing," 

"  Well,"  said  his  host,  "  there  is  a  good  bit  along  here, 
if  you  would  rather  go  on." 

"  Go  on  ?  "  said  he.     "  Of  course  !  " 

And  it  was  a  "  hot  corner."  They  came  to  it  at  the  end 
of  a  long  double  hedgerow  connected  with  the  wood  they 
had  just  beaten  ;  and  as  there  was  no  "  stop  "  at  the  corner 
of  the  wood,  the  pheasants  in  large  numbers  had  run  into 
the  channel  between  the  double  line  of  hedge.  Here  they 
were  followed  by  the  keepers  and  beaters,  who  kept  gently 
driving  them  along.  Occasionally  one  got  up,  and  was  in- 
stantly knocked  over  by  one  of  the  guns ;  but  it  was  evident 
that  the  "  hot  corner  "  would  be  at  the  end  of  this  hedgerow, 
where  there  was  stationed  a  smpck-frocked  rustic  who,  down 
on  his  knees,  was  gently  tapping  with  a  bit  of  stick.  The 
number  of  birds  getting  up  increased,  so  that  the  six  guns 
had  pretty  sharp  work  to  reckon  with  them  ;  and  not  a  few 
of  the  wildly  whirring  objects  got  clean  away  into  the  next 
wood — Lord  Beauregard   all  the  time   calling  out  from  the 


204 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


other  side  of  the  hedge,  "  Shoot  high  !  shoot  high  !  "  But  at 
the  end  of  the  hedgerow  an  extraordinary  scene  occurred. 
One  after  the  other,  then  in  twos  and  threes,  the  birds  sprang 
high  over  the  bushes  ;  the  rattle  of  musketry — all  the  guns 
being  together  now — was  deafening  ;  the  air  was  filled  with 
gunpowder  smoke  ;  and  every  second  or  two  another  bird 
came  tumbling  down  on  to  the  young  corn.  Macleod,  with 
a  sort  of  derisive  laugh,  put  his  gun  over  his  shoulder. 

''  This  is  downright  stupidity,"  he  said  to  Major  Stuart, 
who  was  blazing  away  as  hard  as  ever  he  could  cram  cart- 
ridges into  the  hot  barrels  of  his  gun.  "  You  can't  tell 
whether  you  are  hitting  the  bird  or  not.  There  !  Three 
men  fired  at  that  bird — the  other  two  were  not  touched." 

The  fusillade  lasted  for  about  eight  or  ten  minutes  ;  and 
then  it  was  discovered  that  though  certainly  two  or  three 
hundred  pheasants  had  got  up  at  this  corner,  only  twenty- 
two  and  a  half  brace  were  killed — to  five  guns. 

"  Well,"  said  the  major,  taking  off  his  cap  and  wiping  his 
forehead,  "  that  was  a  bit  of  a  scrimmage  !  " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Macleod,  who  had  been  watching  with 
some  amusement  his  friend's  fierce  zeal  ;  "  but  it  was  not 
shooting.  I  defy  you  to  say  how  many  birds  you  shot.  Or 
I  will  do  this  with  you — I  will  bet  you  a  sovereign  that  if  you 
ask  each  man  to  tell  you  how  many  birds  he  has  shot  during 
the  day,  and  add  them  all  up,  the  total  will  be  twice  the  num- 
ber of  birds  the  keepers  will  take  home.  But  I  am  glad  you 
seem  to  enjoy  it,  Stuart." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Macleod,"  said  the  other,  "  I  think 
I  have  had  enough  of  it.  I  don't  want  to  make  a  fuss  ;  but  I 
fancy  I  don't  quite  see  clearly  with  this  eye.  It  may  be 
some  slight  inllammation  ;  but  I  think  I  will  go  back  to  the 
house,  and  see  if  there's  any  surgeon  in  the  neighborhood." 

"  There  you  are  right ;  and  I  will  go  back  with  you," 
Macleod  said,  promptly. 

When  their  host  heard  of  this,  he  was  for  breaking  up  the 
party  ;  but  Major  Stuart  warmly  remonstrated  ;  and  so  one 
of  the  men  was  sent  with  the  two  friends  to  show  them  the 
way  back  to  the  house.  When  the  surgeon  came  he  exam- 
ined the  wound,  and  pronounced  it  to  be  slight  enough  in 
itself,  but  possibly  dangerous  when  so  near  so  sensitive  an 
organ  as  the  eye.  He  advised  the  major,  if  any  symptoms 
of  inflammation  declared  themselves,  to  go  at  once  to  a  skill- 
ful oculist  in  London,  and  not  to  leave  for  the  North  until  he 
was  quite  assured. 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


205 


*^  That  sounds  lather  well,  Macleod,"  said  he,  ruefully. 

"  Oh,  if  you  must  remain  in  London — though  I  hope  not 
— I  will  stay  with  you,"  Macleod  said.  It  was  a  great  sacri- 
fice, his  remaining  in  London,  instead  of  going  at  once  back 
to  Castle  Dare  ;  but  what  will  not  one  do  for  one's  friend  ? 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

AN    INTERVIEW. 

On  the  eventful  morning  on  which  Major  Stuart  was  to 
be  presented  to  the  chosen  bride  of  Macleod  of  Dare,  the 
simple-hearted  soldier — notwithstanding  that  he  had  a  shade 
over  one  eye,  made  himself  exceedingly  smart.  He  would 
show  the  young  lady  that  Macleod's  friends  in  the  North 
were  not  barbarians.  The  major  sent  back  his  boots  to  be 
brushed  a  second  time.  A  more  smoothly  fitting  pair  of 
gloves  Bond  Street  never  saw. 

"  But  you  have  not  the  air,"  said  he  to  Macleod,  "  of  a 
young  fellow  going  to  see  his  sweetheart.  What  is  the  matter, 
man?" 

Macleod  hesitated  for  a  moment. 

"  Well,  I  am  anxious  she  should  impress  you  fatorably," 
said  he,  frankly  ;  "  and  it  is  an  awkward  position  for  her — 
and  she  will  be  embarrassed,  no  doubt — and  I  have  some 
pity  for  her,  and  almost  wish  some  other  way  had  been 
taken " 

"  Oh,  nonsense  ?  "  the  major  said,  cheerfully.  "  You  need 
not  be  nervous  on  her  account.  Why,  man,  the  silliest  girl 
in  the  world  could  impose  on  an  old  fool  like  me.  Once 
upon  a  time,  perhaps,  I  may  have  considered  myself  a  con- 
noisseur— well,  you  know,  Macleod,  I  once  had  a  waist  like 
the  rest  of  you  ;  but  now,  bless  you,  if  a  tolerably  pretty  girl 
only  says  a  civil  word  or  two  to  me,  I  begin  to  regard  her 
as  if  I  were  her  guardian  angel —  m  loco  parentis^  and  that 
kind  of  thing — and  I  would  sooner  hang  myself  than  scan  her 
dress  or  say  a  word  about  her  figure.  Do  you  think  she  will 
be  afraid  of  a  critic  with  one  eye  ?  Have  courage,  man.  I 
dare  bet  a  sovereign  she  is  quite  capable  of  taking  care  of 
herself.     It's  her  business." 


2o6  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

Macleod  flushed  quickly,  and  the  one  eye  of  the  majoi 
caught  that  sudden  confession  of  shame  or  resentment. 

"  What  I  meant  was,"  he  said,  instantly,  "  that  nature  had* 
taught  the  simplest  of  virgins  a  certain  trick  of  fence — oh 
yes,  don't  you  be  afraid.  Embarrassment !  If  there  is  any 
one  embarrassed,  it  will  not  be  me,  and  it  will  not  be  she. 
Why,  she'll  begin  to  wonder  whether  you  are  really  one  of 
the  Macleods,  if  you  show  yourself  nervous,  apprehensive, 
frightened  like  this." 

"  And  indeed,  Stuart,"  said  he,  rising  as  if  to  shake  off 
some  weight  of  gloomy  feeling,  "  I  scarcely  know  what  is  the 
matter  with  me.  I  ought  to  be  the  happiest  man  in  the 
world ;  and  sometimes  this  very  happiness  seems  so  great 
that  it  is  like  to  suffocate  me — I  cannot  breathe  fast  enough  ; 
and  then,  again,  I  get  into  such  unreasoning  fears  and 
troubles —    Well,  let  us  get  out  into  the  fresh  air." 

The  major  carefully  smoothed  his  hat  once  more,  and 
took  up  his  cane.  He  followed  Macleod  down  stairs — like 
Sancho  Panza  waiting  on  Don  Quixote,  as  he  himself  ex- 
pressed it ;  and  then  the  two  friends  slowly  sauntered  away 
northward  on  this  fairly  clear  and  pleasant  December  morn- 
ing. 

"  Your  nerves  are  not  in  a  healthy  state,  that's  the  fact, 
Macleod,"  said  the  major,  as  they  walked  along.  "  The 
climate  of  London  is  too  exciting  for  you  ;  a  good,  long,  dull 
winter  in  Mull  will  restore  your  tone.  But  in  the  meantime 
don't  cut  my  throat,  or  your  own,  or  anybody  else's." 

"  Am  I  likely  to  do  that  ?  "  Macleod  said,  laughing. 

"  There  was  young  Bouverie,"  the  major  continued,  not 
heeding  the  question — "  what  a  handsome  young  fellow  he 
was  when  he  joined  us  at  Gawulpoor ! — and  he  hadn't  been 
in  the  place  a  week  but  he  must  needs  go  regular  head  over 
heels  about  our  colonel's  sister-in-law.  An  uncommon  pretty 
woman  she  was,  too — an  Irish  girl,  and  fond  of  riding  ;  and 
dash  me  if  that  fellow  didn't  fairly  try  to  break  his  neck 
again  and  again  just  that  she  should  admire  his  pluck  !  He 
was  as  mad  as  a  hatter  about  her.  Well,  one  day  two  or 
three  of  us  had  been  riding  for  two  or  three  hours  on  a 
blazing  hot  morning,  and  we  came  to  one  of  the  irrigation 
reservoirs — big  wells,  you  know — and  what  does  he  do  but 
offer  to  bet  twenty  pounds  he  would  dive  into  the  well  and 
swim  about  for  ten  minutes,  till  we  hoisted  him  out  at  the  end 
of  the  rope.  I  forget  who  took  the  bet,  for  none  of  us 
thought  he  would  do  it :  but  I  believe  he  would  have  done 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


207 


an3^thing  so  that  the  story  of  his  pluck  would  be  carried  to 
the  girl,  don't  you  know.  Well,  off  went  his  clothes,  and  in 
he  jumped  into  the  ice-cold  water.  Nothing  would  stop  him. 
But  at  the  end  of  the  ten  minutes,  when  we  hoisted  up  the 
rope,  there  was  no  Bouverie  there.  It  appeared  that  on 
clinging  on  to  the  rope  he  had  twisted  it  somehow,  and  sud- 
denly found  himself  about  to  have  his  neck  broken,  so  he  had 
to  shake  himself  free  and  plunge  into  the  water  again.  When 
at  last  we  got  him  out,  he  had  had  a  longer  bath  than  he  had 
bargained  for ;  but  there  was  apparently  nothing  the  matter 
with  him — and  he  had  won  the  money,  and  there  would  be  a 
talk  about  him.  However,  two  days  afterward,  when  he  was 
at  dinner,  he  suddenly  felt  as  though  he  had  got  a  blow  on 
the  back  of  his  head — so  he  told  us  afterward — and  fell  back 
insensible.  That  was  the  beginning  of  it.  It  took  him  five 
or  six  years  to  shake  off  the  effects  of  that  dip " 

"And  did  she  marry  him,  after  all?"  Macleod  said, 
eagerly. 

"  Oh  dear,  no  !  I  think  he  had  been  invalided  home 
not  more  than  two  or  three  months  when  she  married  Con- 
nolly, of  the  Seventy-first  Madras  Infantry.  Then  she  ran 
away  from  him  with  some  civilian  fellow,  and  Connolly  blew 
his  brains  out.  That,"  said  the  major,  honestly,  "  is  always 
a  puzzle  to  me.  How  a  fellow  can  be  such  an  ass  as  to  blow 
his  brains  out  when  his  wife  runs  away  from  him  beats  my 
comprehension  altogether.  Now  what  I  would  do  would  be 
this  :  I  would  thank  goodness  I  was  rid  of  such  a  piece  of 
baggage  ;  I  would  get  all  the  good- fellows  I  know,  and  give 
them  a  rattling  fine  dinner ;  and  I  would  drink  a  bumper  to 
her  health  and  another  bumper  to  her  never  coming  back." 

"  And  I  would  send  you  our  Donald,  and  he  would  play, 
'  Cha  till  mi  tuilich  '  for  you,"  Macleod  said. 

"  But  as  for  blowing  my  brains  out !  Well,"  the  major 
added,  with  a  philosophic  air,  "  when  a  man  is  mad  he  cares 
neither  for  his  own  life  nor  for  anybody  else's.  Look  at 
those  cases  you  continually  see  in  the  papers  :  a  young  man 
is  in  love  with  a  young  woman ;  they  quarrel,  or  she  prefers 
some  one  else  ;  what  does  he  do  but  lay  hold  of  her  some 
evening  and  cut  her  throat — to  show  his  great  love  for  her — 
and  then  he  coolly  gives  himself  up  to  the  police,  and  says 
he  is  quite  content  to  be  hanged." 

"  Stuart,"  said  Macleod,  laughing,  "  I  don't  like  this  talk 
about  hanging.  You  said  a  minute  or  two  ago  that  I  was 
mad." 


2o8  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

**  More  or  less,"  observed  the  major,  with  absolute  grav- 
ity ;  "  as  the  lawyer  said  when  he  mentioned  the  Fifteen-acres 
park  at  Dublin." 

"  Well,  let  us  get  into  a  hansom,"  Macleod  said.  "  When 
I  am  hanged  you  will  ask  them  to  write  over  my  tombstone 
that  I  never  kept  anybody  waiting  for  either  luncheon  or 
dinner." 

The  trim  maid-servant  who  opened  the  door  greeted  Mac- 
leod with  a  pleasant  smile  ;  she  was  a  sharp  wench,  and  had 
discovered  that  lovers  have  lavish  hands.  She  showed  the 
two  visitors  into  the  drawing-room  ;  Macleod  silent,  and  lis- 
tening intently ;  the  one-eyed  major  observing  everything, 
and  perhaps  curious  to  know  whether  the  house  of  an  actress 
differed  from  that  of  anybody  else.  He  very  speedily  came 
to  the  conclusion  that,  in  his  small  experience,  he  had  never 
seen  any  house  of  its  size  so  tastefully  decorated  and  accu- 
rately managed  as  this  simple  home. 

"  But  what's  this  !  "  he  cried,  going  to  the  mantelpiece 
and  taking  down  a  drawing  that  was  somewhat  ostentatiously 
placed  there.  "Well!  If  this  is  English  hospitality!  By 
Jove  !  an  insult  to  me,  and  my  father,  and  my  father's  clan, 
that  blood  alone  will  wipe  out.  *  The  Astonishment  of 
Sandy  MacAlister  Mhor  on  beholding  a  Glimpse  of  Sunlight,' 
Look  !  " 

He  showed  the  rude  drawing  to  Macleod — a  sketch  of  a 
wild  Highlander,  with  his  hair  on  end,  his  eyes  starting  out 
of  his  head,  and  his  hands  uplifted  in  bewilderment.  This 
work  of  art  was  the  production  of  Miss  Carry,  who,  on  hear- 
ing the  knock  at  the  door,  had  whipped  into  the  room,  placed 
her  bit  of  savage  satire  over  the  mantelpiece,  and  whipped 
out  again.  But  her  deadly  malice  so  far  failed  of  its  purpose 
that,  instead  of  inflicting  any  annoyance,  it  most  effectually 
broke  the  embarrassment  of  Miss  Gertrude's  entrance  and 
introduction  to  the  major. 

"  Carry  has  no  great  love  for  the  Highlands,"  she  said, 
laughing  and  slightly  blushing  at  the  same  time  ;  "  but  she 
need  not  have  prepared  so  cruel  a  welcome  for  you.  Won't 
/ou  sit  down.  Major  Stuart  ?     Papa  will  be  here  directly." 

"  I  think  it  is  uncommonly  clever,"  the  major  said,  fixing 
his  one  eye  on  the  paper  as  if  he  would  give  Miss  White  dis. 
tinctly  to  understand  that  he  had  not  come  to  stare  at  her- 
"  Perhaps  she  will  like  us  better  when  she  knows  more  about 
us." 

"  Do  you  think,"   said  Miss  White,  demurely,  "that  it  is 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  209 

possible  for  any  one  born  in  the  South  to  learn  to  like  the 
bagpipes  ?  " 

"  No,'*  said  Macleod,  quickly — 'and  it  was  not  usual  for 
him  to  break  in  in  this  eager  way  about  a  usual  matter  of 
talk — "  that  is  all  a  question  of  association.  If  you  had  been 
brought  up  to  associate  the  sound  of  the  pipes  with  every 
memorable  thing — with  the  sadness  of  a  funeral,  and  the  wel- 
come of  friends  come  to  see  you,  and  the  pride  of  going  away 
to  war — then  you  would  understand  why  '  Lord  Lovat's  La- 
ment,' or  the  *  Farewell  to  Gibraltar,'  or  the  '  Heights  of 
Alma ' — why  these  bring  the  tears  to  a  Highlander's  eyes. 
The  pibrochs  preserve  our  legends  for  us,"  he  went  on  to 
say,  in  rather  an  excited  fashion,  for  he  was  obviously  ner- 
vous, and  perhaps  a  trifle  paler  than  usual.  "  They  remind 
us  of  what  our  families  have  done  in  all  parts  of  the  world, 
and  there  is  not  one  you  do  not  associate  with  some  friend 
or  relative  who  is  gone  away,  or  with  some  great  merry- 
making, or  with  the  eleath  of  one  who  was  dear  to  you.  You 
never  saw  that — the  boat  taking  the  coffin  across  the  loch, 
and  the  friends  of  the  dead  sitting  with  bowed  heads,  and  the 
piper  at  the  bow  playing  the  slow  Lament  to  the  time  of  the 
oars.  If  you  had  seen  that,  you  would  know  what  the 
*  Cumhadh  na  Cloinne  '  is  to  a  Highlander.  And  if  you  have 
a  friend  come  to  see  you,  what  is  it  first  tells  you  of  his 
coming  1  When  you  can  hear  nothing  for  the  waves,  you  can 
hear  the  pipes  !  And  if  you  were  going  into  a  battle,  what 
would  put  madness  into  yoiir  head  but  to  hear  the  march 
that  you  know  your  brothers  and  uncles  and  cousins  last 
heard  when  they  marched  on  with  a  cheer  to  take  death  as 
it  happened  to  come  to  them  t  You  might  as  well  wonder  at 
the  Highlanders  loving  the  heather.  That  is  not  a  very 
handsome  flower." 

Miss  White  was  sitting  quite  calm,  and  collected.  A 
covert  glance  or  two  had  convinced  the  major  that  she  was 
entirely  mistress  of  the  situation.  If  there  was  any  one  ner- 
vous, embarrassed,  excited,  through  this  interview,  it  was 
not  Miss  Gertrude  White. 

"  The  other  morning,"  she  said,  complacently,  and  she 
pulled  down  her  dainty  white  cuffs  another  sixteenth  of  an 
inch,  "  I  was  going  along  Buckingham  Palace  Road,  and  I 
met  a  detachment — is  a  detachment  right.  Major  Stuart  ? — 
of  a  Highland  regiment.  At  least  I  supposed  it  was  part  of 
a  Highland -regiment,  because  they  had  eight  pipers  playing 
at  their  head ;  and  I  noticed  that  the  cab  horses  were  far 


2IO  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

more  frightened  than  tliey  would  have  been  at  twice  the 
noise  coming  from  an  ordinary  band.  I  was  wondering 
whether  they  might  think  it  the  roar  of  some  strange  animal 
— you  know  how  a  camel  frightens  a  horse.  But  I  envied 
the  officer  who  was  riding  in  front  of  the  soldiers.  He  was 
a  very  handsome  man ;  and  I  thought  how  proud  he  must 
feel  to  be  at  the  head  of  those  fine,  stalwart  fellows.  In  fact, 
I  felt  for  a  moment  that  I  should  like  to  have  command  of  a 
regiment  myself. 

"  Faith,"  said  the  major,  gallantly,  "  I  would  exchange 
into  that  regiment,  if  I  had  to  serve  as  a  drummer-boy." 

Embarrassed  by  this  broad  compliment  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it. 
She  laughed  lightly,  and  then  rose  to  introduce  the  two  vis- 
itors to  her  father,  who  had  just  entered  the  room. 

It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  Mr.  White,  knowing  the 
errand  of  his  guests,  should  give  them  an  inordinately  effu- 
sive welcome  ;  but  he  was  gravely  polite.  He  prided  him- 
self on  beihg  a  man  of  common-sense,  and  he  knew  it  was 
no  use  fighting  against  the  inevitable.  If  his  daughter 
would  leave  the  stage,  she  would ;  and  there  was  some 
small  compensation  in  the  fact  that  by  her  doing  so  she 
would  become  Lady  Macleod.  He  would  have  less  m@ney 
to  spend  on  trinkets  two  hundred  years  old ;  but  he  would 
gain  something — a  very  little  no  doubt — ^from  the  reflected 
lustre  of  her  social  position. 

"  We  were  talking  about  officers,  papa,"  she  said,  brightly, 
"  and  I  was  about  to  confess  that  I  have  always  had  a  great 
liking  for  soldiers.  I  know  if  I  had  been  a  man  I  should 
have  been  a  soldier.  But  do  you  know,  Sir  Keith,  you  were 
once  very  rude  to  me  about  your  friend  Lieutenant  Ogilvie  ?  " 

Macleod  started. 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  he  gravely. 

"  Oh  yes,  you  were.  Don't  you  remember  the  Caledonian 
Ball  ?  I  only  remarked  that  Lieutenant  Ogilvie,  who  seemed 
to  me  a  bonnie  boy,  did  not  look  as  if  he  were  a  very  formid- 
able warrior ;  and  you  answered  with  some  dark  saying — 
what  was  it  ? — that  nobody  could  tell  what  sword  was  in  a 
scabbard  until  it  was  drawn  ?  "^ 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  laughing  somewhat  nervously,  "  you  for- 
get :  I  was  talking  to  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire." 

"  And  I  am  sure  her  Grace  was  much  obliged  to  you  for 
frightening  her  so,"  Miss  White  said,  with  a  dainty  smile. 

Major  Stuart  was  greatly  pleased  by  the  appearance  and 
charming  manner  of  this  young  lady.     If  Macleod,  who  was 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  2ii 

confessedly  a  handsome  young  fellow,  had  searched  all  over 
England,  he  could  not  have  chosen  a  fitter  mate.  But  he 
was  also  distinctly  of  opinion — judging  by  his  one  eye  only 
— that  nobody  needed  to  be  alarmed  about  this  young  lady's 
exceeding  sensitiveness  and  embarrassment  before  strangers. 
He  thought  she  would  on  all  occasions  be  fairly  capable  of 
holding  her  own.  And  he  was  quite  convinced,  too,  that  the 
beautiful  clear  eyes,  under  the  long  lashes,  pretty  accurately 
divined  what  was  going  forv/ard.  But  what  did  this  impress- 
ion of  the  honest  soldier's  amount  to  t  Only,  in  other  words, 
that  Miss  Gertrude  White,  although  a  pretty  woman,  was  not 
a  fool. 

Luncheon  was  announced,  and  they  went  into  the  other 
room,  accompanied  by  Miss  Carry,  who  had  suffered  herself 
to  be  introduced  to  Major  Stuart  with  a  certain  proud 
sedateness.  And  now  the  major  played  the  part  of  the  ac- 
cepted lover's  friend  to  perfection.  He  sat  next  Miss  White 
herself ;  and  no  matter  what  the  talk  was  about,  he  managed 
to  bring  it  round  to  something  that  redounded  to  Macleod's 
advantage.  Macleod  could  do  this,  and  Macleod  could  do 
that ;  it  was  all  Macleod,  and  Macleod,  and  Macleod. 

"  And  if  you  should  ever  come  to  our  part  of  the  world, 
Miss  White,"  said  the  major — not  letting  his  glance  meet 
hers — "  you  will  be  able  to  understand  something  of  the  old 
loyalty  and  affection  and  devotion  the  people  in  the  High- 
lands showed  to  their  chiefs ;  for  I  don't  believe  there  is  a 
man,  woman,  or  child  about  the  place  who  would  not  rather 
have  a  hand  cut  off  than  that  Macleod  should  have  a  thorn 
scratch  him.  And  it  is  all  the  more  singular,  you  know,  that 
they  are  not  Macleods.  Mull  is  the  country  of  the  Macleans ; 
and  the  Macleans  and  the  Macleods  had  their  fights  in 
former  times.  There  is  a  cave  they  will  show  you  round  the 
point  from  Ru  na  Gaul  lighthouse  that  is  called  Uamh-na- 
Ceann — that  is,  the  Cavern  of  the  Skulls — where  the  Mac- 
leods murdered  fifty  of  the  Maclearis,  though  Alastair  Cro- 
tach,  the  humpbacked  son  of  Macleod,  was  himself  killed." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Major  Stuart,"  said  Miss  Carry, 
with  a  grand  stateliness  in  her  tone,  "  but  will  you  allow  me 
to  ask  if  this  is  true  ?  It  is  a  passage  I  saw  quoted  in  a  book 
the  other  day,  and  I  copied  it  out.  It  says  something  about 
the  character  of  the  people  you  are  talking  about." 

She  handed  him  the  bit  of  paper ;  and  he  read  these 
words  :  "  T?rw  it  is,  that  thir  Ilafidish  wen  ar  of  nature  verie 
prowdy  suspicious y  avaricious^  full  of  decept  and  evill  inventioun 


2 12  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

each  aganis  Jns  nychihour^  he  what  way  soever  he  May  ci7'cum- 
vin  him.  Besydis  all  this,  they  ar  sa  crewall  m  takifig  of 
revenge  that  nather  have  they  regard  to  perso?i^  ^o,ge^  tyme,  or 
cans  ;  sa  ar  they  generallie  all  sa  far  ad  diet  it  to  thair  aw  in  ty- 
raniiicall  opi7itons  that,  in  all  respects^  they  exceed  in  creweltie 
the  maist  barbarous  people  that  ever  hes  bene  sen  the  begynnivg 
of  the  warld.^^ 

*'  Upon  my  word,"  said  the  honest  major,  "  it  is  a  most 
formidable  indictment.  You  had  better  ask  Sir  Keith  about 
it." 

He  handed  the  paper  across  the  table  ;  Macleod  read  it, 
and  burst  out  laughing. 

"  It  is  too  true.  Carry,"  said  he.  "  We  are  a  dreadful 
lot  of  people  up  there  among  the  hills.  Nothing  but  murder 
and  rapine  from  morning  till  night." 

"  I  was  telling  him  this  morning  he  would  probably  be 
hanged,"  observed  the  major,  gravely. 

"  For  what  ?  "  Miss  White  asked. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  major,  carelessly,  "  I  did  not  specify  the 
offence.     Cattle-lifting,  probably." 

Miss  Carry's  fierce  onslaught  was  thus  laughed  away,  and 
they  proceeded  to  other  matters  ;  the  major  meanwhile  not 
failing  to  remark  that  this  luncheon  differed  considerably 
from  the  bread  and  cheese  and  glass  of  whiskey  of  a  shooting- 
day  in  Mull.  Then  they  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  and 
had  tea  there,  and  some  further  talk.  The  major  had  by 
this  time  quite  abandoned  his  critical  and  observant  attitude. 
He  had  succumbed  to  the  enchantress.  He  was  ready  to 
declare  that  Gertrude  White  was  the  most  fascinating  woman 
he  had  ever  met,  while,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  had  been 
rather  timidly  making  suggestions  and  asking  his  opinion 
all  the  time.     And  when  they  rose  to  leave,  she  said, — 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Major  Stuart,  that  this  unfortunate  ac- 
cident should  have  altered  your  plans  ;  but  since  you  must 
remain  in  London,  I  hope  we  shall  see  you  often  before  you 
go." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  he. 

**  We  cannot  ask  you  to  dine  with  us,"  she  said,  quite 
simply  and  frankly,  "because  of  my  engagements  in  the 
evening ;  but  we  are  always  at  home  at  lunch-time,  and  Sir 
Keith  knows  the  way." 

**  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  the  major,  as  he  warmly 
pressed  her  hand. 

The  two  friends  passed  out  into  the  street 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  2i^ 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  the  major,  "  you  have  been  lucky 
— don't  imagine  I  am  humbugging  you.  A  really  handsome 
lass,  and  a  thorough  woman  of  the  world,  too — trained  and 
fitted  at  every  point ;  none  of  your  farmyard  beauties.  But 
I  say,  Macleod — I  say,"  he  continued,  solemnly,  "won't  she 
find  it  a  trifle  dull  at  Castle  Dare  ? — the  change,  you  know." 

"  It  is  not  necessary  that  she  should  live  at  Dare,"  Mac- 
leod said. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  you  know  your  own  plans  best." 

"  I  have  none.  All  that  is  in  the  air  as  yet.  And  so  you 
do  not  think  I  have  make  a  mistake." 

"  I  wish  I  was  five-and-twenty,  and  could  make  a  mistake 
like  that,"  said  the  major,  with  a  sigh. 

Meanwhile  Miss  Carry  had  confronted  her  sister. 

"  So  you  have  been  inspected,  Gerty.  Do  you  think  you 
passed  muster  ? " 

"  Go  away,  and  don't  be  impertinent,  you  silly  girl !  " 
said  the  other,  good-naturedly. 

Carry  pulled  a  folded  piece  of  paper  from  her  pocket, 
and,  advancing,  placed  it  on  the  table. 

"  There,"  said  she,  "  put  that  in  your  purse,  and  don't 
tell  me  you  have  not  been  warned,  Gertrude  White." 

The  elder  sister  did  as  she  was  bid ;  but  indeed  she  was 
not  thinking  at  that  moment  of  the  cruel  and  revengeful 
character  of  the  Western  Highlanders,  which  Miss  Carry's 
quotation  set  forth  in  such  plain  terms.  She  was  thinking 
that  she  had  never  before  seen  Glenogie  look  so  soldier-like 
and  handsome. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

AT  A   RAILWAY   STATION. 


The  few  days  of  grace  obtained  by  the  accident  that  hap- 
pened to  Major  Stuart  fled  too  quickly  away,  and  the  time 
came  for  saying  farewell.  With  a  dismal  apprehension  Mac- 
leod looked  forward  to  this  moment.  He  had  seen  her  on 
the  stage  bid  a  pathetic  good-by  to  her  lover,  and  there  it 
was  beautiful  enough — with  her  shy  coquetries,  and  her  win- 
ning ways,  and  the  timid,  reluctant  confession  of  her  love. 


214 


MA  CLE  CD  OF  DARE. 


But  there  was  nothing  at  all  beautiful  about  this  ordeal 
through  which  he  must  pass.  It  was  harsh  and  horrible. 
He  trembled  even  as  he  thought  of  it. 

The  last  day  of  his  stay  in  London  arrived  ;  he  rose  with 
a  sense  of  some  awful  doom  hanging  over  him  that  he  could 
in  nowise  shake  off.  It  was  a  strange  day,  too — the  world 
of  London  vaguely  shining  through  a  pale  fog,  the  sun  a 
globe  of  red  fire.  There  was  hoar-fro&t  on  the  window-ledges ; 
at  last  the  winter  seemed  about  to  begin. 

And  then,  as  ill  luck  would  have  it,  Miss  White  had  some 
important  business  at  the  theatre  to  attend  to,  so  that  she 
could  not  see  him  till  the  afternoon  ;  and  he  had  to  pass  the 
empty  morning  somehow. 

"  You  look  like  a  man  going  to  be  hanged,"  said  the  ma- 
jor, about  noon.  "  Come,  shall  we  stroll  down  to  the  river 
now  ?  We  can  have  a  chat  with  your  friend  before  lunch,  and 
a  look  over  his  boat." 

Colonel  Ross,  being  by  chance  at  Erith,  had  heard  of  Mac- 
leod's  being  in  town,  and  had  immediately  come  up  in  his 
little  steam-yacht,  the  Iris^  which  now  lay  at  anchor  close  to 
Westminster  Bridge,  on  the  Lambeth  side.  He  had  pro- 
posed, merely  for  the  oddity  of  the  thing,  that  Macleod  and 
his  friend  the  major  should  lunf;h  on  board,  and  young  Ogil- 
vie  had  promised  to  run  up  from  Aldershot. 

"  Macleod,"  said  the  gallant  soldier,  as  the  two  friends 
walked  leisurely  down  towards  the  Thames,  "  if  you  let  this 
monomania  get  such  a  hold  of  you,  do  you  know  how  it  will 
end  ?  You  will  begin  to  show  signs  of  having  a  conscience." 

"  What  do  you  mean  1 "  said  he,  absently. 

"  Your  nervous  system  will  break  down,  and  you  will  be- 
gin to  have  a  conscience.  That  is  a  sure  sign,  in  either  a 
man  or  a  nation.  Man,  don't  I  see  it  all  around  us  now  in 
this  way  of  looking  at  India  and  the  colonies !  We  had  no 
conscience —  we  were  in  robust  health  as  a  nation — when  we 
thrashed  the  French  out  of  Canada,  and  seized  India,  and 
stole  land  just  wherever  we  could  put  our  fingers  on  it  all 
over  the  globe  ;  but  now  it  is  quite  different ;  we  are  only  edu- 
cating these  countries  up  to  self-government ;  it  is  all  in  the  in- 
terest of  morality  that  we  protect  them  ;  as  soon  as  they  wish 
to  go  we  will  give  them  our  blessing — in  short,  we  have  got 
a  consc'.ence,  because  the  national  health  is  feeble  and  nerv- 
ous. You  look  out,  or  you  will  get  into  the  same  condition. 
You  will  begin  to  ask  whether  it  is  right  to  shoot  pretty  little 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  215 

birds  in  order  10  eat  them ;  you  will  become  a  vegetarian ; 
and  you  will  take  to  goloshes." 

"  Good  gracious  ! "  said  Macleod,  waking  up,  "  what  is  all 
this  about  ? " 

"Rob  Roy,"  observed  the  major,  oracularly,  "was  a 
healthy  man.  I  will  make  you  a  bet  he  was  not  much  troubled 
by  chilblains." 

"  Stuart,"  Macleod  cried,  "  do  you  want  to  drive  me  mad  ? 
What  on  earth  are  you  talking  about  ? " 

"  Anything,"  the  major  confessed,  frankly,  "  to  rouse  you 
out  of  your  monomania,  because  I  don't  want  to  have  my 
throat  cut  by  a  lunatic  some  night  up  at  Castle  Dare." 

"  Castle  Dare,"  repeated  Macleod,  gloomily.  "  I  think  I 
shall  scarcely  know  the  place  again  ;  and  we  have  been  away 
about  a  fortnight  !  " 

No  sooner  had  they  got  down  to  the  landing-step  on  the 
Lambeth  side  of  the  river  than  they  were  descried  from  the 
deck  of  the  beautiful  little  steamer,  and  a  boat  was  sent 
ashore  for  them.  Colonel  Ross  was  standing  by  the  tiny  gang- 
way to  receive  them.  They  got  on  board,  and  passed  into  the 
glass-surrounded  saloon.  There  certainly  was  something  odd 
in  the  notion  of  being  anchored  in  the  middle  of  the  great 
city — absolutely  cut  off  from  it,  and  enclosed  in  a  miniature 
floating  world,  the  very  sound  of  it  hushed  and  remote.  And, 
indeed,  on  this  strange  morning  the  big  town  looked  more 
dreamlike  than  usual  as  they  regarded  it  from  the  windows 
of  this  saloon — the  buildings  opal-like  in  the  pale  fog,  a  dusky 
glitter  on  the  high  towers  of  the  Houses  of  Parliament,  ana 
some  touches  of  rose  red  on  the  ripples  of  the  yellow  water 
around  them. 

Right  o;^er  there  was  the  very  spot  to  which  he  had  idly 
wandered  in  the  clear  dawn  to  have  a  look  at  the  peacefully 
flowing  stream.  How  long  ago  .?  It  seemed  to  him,  looking 
back,  somehow  the  morning  of  life — shining  clear  and  beau- 
tiful, before  any  sombre  anxieties  and  joys  scarcely  less  pain- 
ful had  come  to  cloud  the  fair  sky.  He  thought  of  himself 
at  that  time  with  a  sort  of  wonder.  He  sav/  himself  standing 
there,  glad  to  watch  the  pale  and  glowing  glory  of  the  dawn, 
careless  as  to  what  the  day  might  bring  forth  ;  and  he  knew 
that  it  was  another  and  an  irrecoverable  Macleod  he  was 
mentally  regarding. 

Well,  when  his  friend  Ogilvie  arrived,  he  endeavored  to 
assume  some  greater  spirit  and  cheerfulness,  and  they  had  a 
pleasant  enough  luncheon  party  in  the  gently  moving  saloon. 


2i6  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

Thereafter  Colonel  Ross  was  for  getting  up  st-eani  and  tak- 
ing them  for  a  run  somewhere  ;  but  at  this  point  Macleod 
begged  to  be  excused  for  running  away  ;  and  so,  having  con- 
signed Major  Stuart  to  the  care  of  his  host  for  the  moment, 
and  having  bade  good-by  to  Ogilvie,  he  went  ashore.  He 
made  his  way  up  to  the  cottage  in  South  Bank.  He  entered 
the  drawing-room  and  sat  down,  alone. 

When  she  came  in,  she  said,  with  a  quick  anxiety,  "  You 
are  not  ill  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  he  said  rising,  and  his  face  was  haggard  some- 
what ;  "  but — but  it  is  not  pleasant  to  come  to  say  good- 
by " 

"  You  must  not  take  it  so  seriously  as  that,"  she  said,  with 
a  friendly  smile. 

"  My  going  away  is  like  going  into  a  grave,"  he  said,  slow- 
ly.    "  It  is  dark." 

And  then  he  took  her  two  hands  in  his,  and  regarded  her 
with  such  an  intensity  of  look  that  she  almost  drew  back, 
afraid. 

"  Sometimes,"  he  said,  watching  her  eyes,  "  I  think  I 
shall  never  see  you  again." 

"  Oh,  Keith,"  said  she,  drawing  her  hands  away,  and 
speaking  half  playfully,  "  you  really  frighten  me  !  And  even 
if  you  were  never  to  see  me  again,  wouldn't  it  be  a  very  good 
thing  for  you  ?     You  would  have  got  rid  of  a  bad  bargain." 

"  It  would  not  be  a  very  good  thing  for  me,"  he  said,  still 
regarding  her. 

"  Oh,  well,  don't  speak  of  it,"  said  she,  lightly ;  "  let  us 
speak  of  all  that  is  to  be  done  in  the  long  time  that  must  pass 
before  we  meet " 

"  But  why  '  must  ? '  "said  he,  eagerly — "  why '  must  ? '  If 
you  knew  how  I  looked  forward  to  the  blackness  of  this  win- 
ter away  up  there — so  far  away  from  you  that  I  shall  forget 
the  sound  of  your  voice — oh  !  you  cannot  know  what  it  is  to 
me  ?  " 

He  had  sat  down  again,  his  eyes,  with  a  sort  of  pained 
and  hunted  look  in  them,  bent  on  the  floor. 

"But  there  is  a  ^  must,' yon  know,"  she  said,  cheerfully, 
"  and  we  ought  to  be  sensible  folk  and  recognize  it.  You 
know  I  ought  to  have  a  probationary  period,  as  it  were — like 
a  nun,  you  know,  just  to  see  if  she  is  fit  to — " 

Here  Miss  White  paused,  with  a  little  embarrassment ; 
but  presently  she  charged  the  difficulty,  and  said,  with  a 
slight  laugh, — 


MA  CLEOD  OF  DARE.  2 1 7 

"  To  take  the  veil,  in  fact.  You  must  give  me  time  to 
become  accustomed  to  a  whole  heap  of  things  :  if  we  were 
to  do  anything  suddenly  now,  we  might  blunder  into  some 
great  mistake,  perhaps  irretrievable.  I  must  train  myself  by 
degrees  for  another  kind  of  life  altogether ;  and  I  am  going 
to  surjDrise  you,  Keith — I  am  indeed.  If  papa  takes  me  to 
the  Highlands  next  year,  you  won't  recognize  me  at  all.  I 
am  going  to  read  up  all  about  the  Highlands,  and  learn  the 
tartans,  and  the  names  of  fishes  and  birds ;  and  I  will  walk 
in  the  rain  and  try  to  think  nothing  about  it ;  and  perhaps  I 
may  learn  a  little  Gaelic  :  indeed,  Keith,  when  you  see  me 
in  the  Highlands,  you  will  find  me  a  thorough  Highland-wo- 
man." 

"  You  will  never  become  a  Highland-woman,"  he  said, 
with  a  grave  kindness.  "  Is  it  needful  ?  I  would  rather  see 
you  as  you  are  than  playing  a  part." 

Her  eyes  expressed  some  quick  wonder,  for  he  had  al- 
most quoted  her  father's  words  to  her. 

"  You  would  rather  see  me  as  I  am  ?  "  she  said,  demurely. 
"  But  what  am  I  ?  I  don't  know  myself." 

"  You  are  a  beautiful  and  gentle-hearted  Englishwoman," 
he  said,  with  honest  admiration — "  a  daughter  of  the  South. 
Why  should  you  wish  to  be  anything  else  .''  When  you  come 
to  us,  I  will  show  you  a  true  Highland-woman — that  is,  my 
cousin  Janet." 

"Now  you  have  spoiled  all  my  ambition,"  she  said, 
somewhat  petulantly.  "I  had  intended  spending  all  the 
winter  in  training  myself  to  forget  the  habits  and  feelings  of 
an  actress,  and  I  was  going  to  educate  myself  for  another 
kind  of  life ;  and  now  I  find  that  when  I  go  to  the  Highlands 
you  will  compare  me  with  your  cousin  Janet !  " 

"  That  is  impossible,'*  said  he,  absently,  for  he  was 
thinking  of  the  time  when  the  summer  seas  would  be  blue 
again,  and  the  winds  soft,  and  the  sky  clear ;  and  then  he 
saw  the  white  boat  of  the  Umpire  going  merrily  out  to  the 
great  steamer  to  bring  the  beautiful  stranger  from  the  South 
to  Castle  Dare  ! 

*'  Ah,  well,  I  am  not  going  to  quarrel  with  you  on  this 
our  last  day  together,"  she  said,  and  she  gently  placed  her 
soft  white  hand  on  the  clinched  fist  that  rested  on  the  table 
"  I  see  you  are  in  great  trouble — I  wish  I  could  lessen  it. 
And  yet  how  could  I  wish  that  you  could  think  of  me  less, 
even  during  the  long  winter  evenings,  wheli  it  will  be  so 
much  more  lonely  for  you  than  for  me  ?     But  you  must  leave 


2i8  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

me  my  hobby  all  the  same ;  and  you  must  think  of  me  always 
as  preparing  myself  and  looking  forward ;  for  at  least  you 
know  you  will  .expect  me  to  be  able  to  sing  a  Highland 
ballad  to  your  friends." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  hastily,  "  if  it  is  all  true — if  it  is  all 
possible — what  you  speak  of.  Sometimes  I  think  it  is  mad- 
ness of  me  to  fling  away  my  only  chance  ;  to  have  everything 
I  care  for  in  the  world  near  me,  and  to  go  away  and  perhaps 
never  return.  Sometimes  I  know  in  my  heart  that  I  shall 
never  see  you  again — never  after  this  day." 

"  Ah,  now,"  said  she,  brightly — for  she  feared  this  black 
demon  getting  possession  of  him  again — "  I  will  kill  that 
superstition  right  off.  You  shall  see  me  after  to-day ;  for  as 
sure  as  my  name  is  Gertrude  White,  I  will  go  up  to  the  rail- 
way station  to-morrow  morning  and  see  you  off.  There  !  " 
"  You  will  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  flush  of  joy  on  his  face. 
"  But  I  don't  want  any  one  else  to  see  me,"  she  said, 
looking  down. 

"  Oh,  I  will  manage  that,"  he  said,  eagerly.  "  I  will  get 
Major  Stuart  into  the  carriage  ten  minutes  before  the  train 
starts." 

"  Colonel  Ross  ?  " 
"  He  goes  back  to  Erith  to-night." 

"And  I  will  bring  to  the  station,"  said  she,  with  some 
shy  color  in  her  face,  "  a  little  present — if  you  should  speak 
of  me  to  your  mother,  you  might  give  her  this  from  me ;  it 
belonged  to  my  mother." 

Could  anything  have  been  more  delicately  devised  than 
this  tender  and  timid  message  ? 

"  You  have  a  woman's  heart,"  he  said. 
And  then  in  the  same  low  voice  she  began  to  explain 
that  she  would  like  him  to  go  to  the  theatre  that  evening, 
and  that  perhaps  he  would  go  alone  ;  and  would  he  do  her 
the  favor  to  be  in  a  particular  box  ?  She  took  a  piece  of 
paper  from  her  purse,  and  shyly  handed  it  to  him.  How 
could  he  refuse  ? — though  he  flushed  slightly.  It  was  a  favor 
she  asked.     "  I  will  know  where  you  are,"  she  said. 

And  so  he  was  not  to  bid  good-by  to  her  on  this  occa- 
sion, after  all.  But  he  bade  good-by  to  Mr.  White,  and  to 
Miss  Carry,  who  was  quite  civil  to  him  now  that  he  was 
going  away ;  and  then  he  went  out  into  the  cold  and  gray 
December  afternoon.  They  were  lighting  the  lamps.  But 
gaslight  throws  no  cheerfulness  on  a  grave. 

He  went  to  the   theatre  later  on  ;  and  the  talisman  she 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  219 

had  given  him  took  him  into  a  box  almost  level  with  the 
stage,  and  so  near  to  it  that  the  glare  of  the  footlights 
bewildered  his  eyes,  until  he  retired  into  the  corner.  And 
once  more  he  saw  the  puppets  come  and  go,  with  the  one 
live  woman  among  them  whose  every  tone  of  voice  made  his 
heart  leap.  And  then  this  drawing-room  scene,  in  which  she 
comes  in  alone,  and  talking  to  herself  ?  She  sits  down  to 
the  piano  carelessly.  Some  one  enters  unperceived,  and 
stands  silent  there,  to  listen  to  the  singing.  And  this  air 
that  she  sings,  waywardly,  like  a  light-hearted  schoolgirl  : — 

*'  Hi-ri-libhin  o,     Brae  Maclntyre, 
Hi-ri-libhin  o,     Costly  thy  wooing ! 

Thou'st  slain  the  maid 
Hug-o-rin-o,        'Tis  thy  undoing ! 
Hi-ri-libhin  o,     Friends  of  my  love, 
Hi-ri-libhin  o,     Do  not  upbraid  him; 

He  was  leal 
Hug-o-rin-o,      Chance  betrayed  him." 

Macleod's  breathing  came  quick  and  hard.  She  had  not 
sung  the  ballad  of  the  brave  Maclntyre  when  formerly  he 
had  seen  the  piece.  Did  she  merely  wish  him  to  know,  by 
this  arch  rendering  of  the  gloomy  song,  that  she  was  pursu- 
ing her  Highland  studies  ?  And  then  the  last  verse  she 
sang  in  the  Gaelic  !  He  was  so  near  that  he  could  hear  this 
adjuration  to  the  unhappy  lover  to  seek  his  boat  and  fly, 
steering  wide  of  Jura  and  avoiding  Mull : — 

*«  Hi-ri-libhin  o,     Buin  Bkta, 
Hi-ri-libhin  o,     Fag  an  dathaich, 

Seachain  Mule, 
Hug-o-ri-no  ;     Sna  taodh  Jura  I  " 

Was  she  laughing,  then,  at  her  pronunciation  of  the  Gaelic 
when  she  carelessly  rose  from  the  piano,  and,  in  doing  so,  di- 
rected one  glance  to  him  that  made  him  quail  ?  The  foolish 
piece  went  on.  She  was  more  bright,  vivacious,  coquettish 
than  ever :  how  could  she  have  such  spirits  in  view  of  the 
long  separation  that  lay  on  his  heart  like  lead  ?  Then,  at  the 
end  of  the  piece,  there  was  a  tapping  at  the  door,  and  an  en- 
velope was  handed  in  to  him.  It  only  contained  a  card,  with 
the  message  "  Good-night  ?  "  scrawled  in  pencil.  It  was  the 
last  time  he  ever  was  in  any  theatre. 

Then  that  next  morning — cold  and  raw  and  damp,  with  a 
blustering  northwest  wind  that  seemed  to  bring  an  angry 


22  0  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

summons  from  the  far  seas.  At  the  station  his  hand  was 
trembling  like  the  hand  of  a  drunken  man  ;  his  eyes  wild  and 
troubled  :  his  face  haggard.  And  as  the  moment  arrived  for 
the  train  to  start,  he  became  more  and  more  excited. 

"  Come  and  take  your  place,  Macleod,"  the  major  said. 
'*  There  is  no  use  worrying  about  leaving.  We  have  eaten 
our  cake.  The  frolic  is  at  an  end.  All  we  can- do  is  to  sing. 
Then  fare  you  well,  my  Mary  Blane,'  and  put  up  with  what- 
ever is  ahead.  If  I  could  only  have  a  drop  of  real,  genuine 
Talisker  to  steady  my  nerves " 

But  here  the  major,  who  had  been  incidentally  leaning 
out  of  the  window,  caught  sight  of  a  figure,  and  instantly  he 
withdrew  his  head.     Macleod  disappeared. 

That  great,  gaunt  room — with  the  hollow  footfalls  ol 
strangers,  and  the  cries  outside.  His  face  was  quite  white 
when  he  took  her  hand. 

*'  I  am  very  late,"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 

He  could  not  speak  at  all.  He  fixed  his  eyes  on  hers 
with  a  strange  intensity,  as  if  he  would  read  her  very  soul; 
and  what  could  any  one  find  there  but  a  great  gentleness  and 
sincerity,  and  the  frank  confidence  of  one  who  had  nothing 
to  conceal  ? 

"  Gertrude,"  said  he  at  last,  "  whatever  happens  to  us  two, 
you  will  ne\»er  forget  that  I  loved  you  } " 

"  I  think  I  may  be  sure  of  that,"  she  said,  looking  down. 

They  rang  a  bell  outside. 

"  Good-by,  then." 

He  tightly  grasped  the  hand  he  held  ;  once  more  he  gazed 
into  those  clear  and  confiding  eyes — with  an  almost  piteously 
anxious  look  :  then  he  kissed  her  and  hurried  away.  But  she 
was  bold  enough  to  follow.  Her  eyes  were  very  moist.  Her 
heart  was  beating  fast.  If  Glenogie  had  there  and  then  chal- 
lenged her,  and  said,  "  Come,  then,  siveetheart ;  will  you  fiy 
with  me  ?  A7id  the  proud  mother  will  meet  you.  And  the  gentle 
cousin  will  attend  on  you.  And  Castle  Dare  will  welcome  the 
young  bride  /" — what  would  she  have  said  .<*  The  moment  was 
over.  She  only  saw  the  train  go  gently  away  from  the  sta- 
tion ;  and  she  saw  the  piteous  eyes  fixed  on  hers  ;  and  while 
he  was  in  sight  she  waved  her  handkerchief.  When  the  train 
had  disappeared  she  turned  away  with  a  sigh. 

"  Poor  fellow,"  she  was  thinking  to  herself,  **  he  is  very 
much  in  earnest — far  more  in  earnest  than  even  poor  How- 
son.  It  would  break  my  heart  if  I  tvere  to  bring  him  any 
trouble." 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  221 

By  the  time  she  had  got  to  the  end  of  the  platform,  her 
thoughts  had  taken  a  more  cheerful  turn. 

"  Dear  me,"  she  was  saying  to  herself,  "  I  quite  forgot  to 
ask  him  whether  my  Gaelic  was  good  !  " 

When  she  had  got  into  the  street  outside,  the  day  was 
brightening. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  was  asking  herself,  "  whether  Carry 
would  come  and  look  at  that  exhibition  of  water-colors ;  and 
what  would  the  cab  fare  be  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A  DISCLOSURE. 


And  now  he  was  all  eagerness  to  brave  the  first  dragon 
in  his  way — the  certain  opposition  of  this  proud  old  lady  at 
Castle  Dare.  No  doubt  she  would  stand  aghast  at  the  mere 
mention  of  such  a  thing ;  perhaps  in  her  sudden  indignation 
she  might  utter  sharp  words  that  would  rankle  afterwards  in 
the  memory.  In  any  case  he  knew  the  struggle  would  be 
long,  and  bitter,  and  harassing;  and  he  had  not  the  skill  of 
speech  to  persuasively  bend  a  woman's  will.  There  was 
another  way — impossible,  alas  ! — he  had  thought  of.  If  only 
he  could  have  taken  Gertrude  White  by  the  hand — if  only  he 
could  have  led  her  up  the  hall,  and  presented  her  to  his 
mother,  and  said,  "  Mother,  this  is  your  daughter  ;  is  she  not 
fit  to  be  the  daughter  of  so  proud  a  mother  ?  " — the  fight 
would  have  been  over.  How  could  any  one  withstand  the 
appeal  of  those  fearless  and  tender  clear  eyes  1 

Impatiently  he  waited  for  the  end  of  dinner  on  the  even- 
ing of  his  arrival ;  impatiently  he  heard  Donald  the  piper 
lad,  play  the  brave  Salute — the  wild,  shrill  yell  overcoming 
the  low  thunder  of  the  Atlantic  outside,  and  he  paid  but  little 
attention  to  the  old  and  familiar  Cumhadh  iia  Cioinne.  Then 
Hamish  put  the  whiskey  and  the  claret  on  the  table,  and 
withdrew.     They  were  left  alone. 

"And  now,  Keith,"  said  his  cousin  Janet,  with  the  wise 
gray  eyes  grown  cheerful  and  kind,  "  you  will  tell  us  about 


222  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

all  the  people  you  saw  in  London  ;  and  was  there  much 
gayety  going  on  ?  And  did  you  see  the  Queen  at  all  ?  and 
did  you  give  any  fine  dinners  ?  " 

**  How  can  I  answer  you  all  at  once,  Janet  ?  "  said  he, 
laughing  in  a  somewhat  nervous  way.  "  I  did  not  see  the 
Queen,  for  she  was  at  Windsor ;  and  I  did  not  give  any  fine 
dinners,  for  it  is  not  the  time  of  year  in  London  to  give  fine 
dinners  ;  and  indeed  I  spent  enough  money  in  that  way  when 
I  was  in  London  before.  But  I  saw  several  of  the  friends 
who  were  very  kind  to  me  when  I  was  in  London  in  the  sum- 
mer. And  do  you  remember,  Janet,  my  speaking  to  you 
about  the  beautiful  young  lady — the  actress  I  met  at  the 
house  of  Colonel  Ross  of  Duntorme  1  " 

"  ( )h  yes,  I  remember  very  well." 

"Because,"  said  he — and  his  fingers  were  rather  nervous 
as  he  took  out  a  package  from  his  breast-pocket — "  I  have 
got  some  photographs  of  her  for  the  mother  and  you  to  see. 
But  it  is  little  of  any  one  that  you  can  understand  from  pho- 
tographs. You  would  have  to  hear  her  talk,  and  see  her 
manner,  before  you  could  understand  why  every  one  speaks 
so  well  of  her,  and  why  she  is  a  friend  with  every  one " 

He  had  handed  the  packet  to  his  mother,  and  the  old 
lady  had  adjusted  her  eye-glasses,  and  was  turning  over  the 
various  photographs. 

"  She  is  very  good-looking,"  said  Lady  Macleod.  "  Oh 
yes,  she  is  very  good-looking.     And  that  is  her  sister  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Janet  was  looking  over  them  too. 

"  But  where  did  you  get  all  the  photographs  of  her 
Keith  1  "  she  said.  "They  are  from  all  sorts  of  places — 
Scarborough,  Newcastle,  Brighton " 

"  I  got  them  from  herself,"  said  he. 

"  Oh  do  you  know  her  so  well  ?  " 

"  I  know  her  very  well.  She  was  the  most  intimate  friend 

^f  the  people  whose  acquaintance  I  first  made  in  London,"  he 

lid,  simply,  and  then  he  turned  to  his  mother ;  "  I  wish  pho- 

)graphs  cDuld  speak,  mother,  for  then  you  might  make  her 

acquaintance ;  and  as  she   is  coming  to  the   Highlands  next 

year " 

"  We  have  no  theatre  in  Mull,  Keith,"  Lady  Macleod 
said,  with  a  smile. 

"  But  by  that  time  she  will  not  be  an  actress  at  all  :  did  I 
not  tell  you  that  before  }  "  he  said,  eagerly.  "  Did  I  not  tell 
you  that }     She  is  going  to  leave  the  stage — perhaps  sooner 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  223 

or  later,  but  certainly  by  that  time  ;  and  when  she  comes  to  the 
Highlands  next  year  with  her  father,  she  will  be  travelling 
just  like  any  one  else.  And  I  hope,  mother,  you  won't  let 
them  think  that  we  Highlanders  are  less  hospitable  than  the 
people  of  London." 

He  made  the  suggestion  in  an  apparently  careless  fashion, 
but  there  was  a  painfully  anxious  look  in  his  eyes.  Janet 
noticed  that. 

"It  would  be  strange  if  they  were  to  come  to  so  unfre- 
quented a  place  as  the  west  of  Mull,"  said  Lady  Macleod, 
somewhat  coldly,  as  she  put  the  photographs  aside. 

"  But  I  have  told  them  all  about  the  place,  and  what  they 
will  see,  and  they  are  eagerly  looking  forward  to  it ;  and  you 
surely  would  not  have  them  put  up  at  the  inn  at  Bunessan. 
mother  ?  " 

"  Really,  Keith,  I  think  you  have  been  imprudent.  It 
was  little  matter  our  receiving  a  bachelor  friend  like  Norman 
Ogilvie,  but  I  don't  think  we  are  quite  in  a  condition  to  en- 
tertain strangers  at  Dare." 

"  No  one  objected  to  me  as  a  stranger  when  I  went  to 
London,"  said  he,  proudly. 

"  If  they  are  anywhere  in  the  neighborhood,"  said.  Lady 
Macleod,  "  I  should  be  pleased  to  show  them  all  the  atten- 
tion in  my  power,  as  you  say  they  were  friendly  with  you  in 
London  ;  but  really,  Keith,  I  don't  think  you  can  ask  me  to 
invite  two  strangers  to  Dare — " 

"  Then  it  is  to  the  inn  at  Bunessan  they  must  go  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Now,  auntie,"  said  Janet  Macleod,  with  a  gentle  voice, 
"  you  are  not  going  to  put  poor  Keith  into  a  fix  ;  I  know  you 
won't  do  that.  I  see  the  whole  thing  ;  it  is  all  because  Keith 
was  so  thorough  a  Highlander.  •  They  were  talking  about 
Scotland  :  and  no  doubt  he  said  there  was  nothing  in  the 
country  to  be  compared  with  our  islands,  and  caves,  and  cliffs. 
And  then  they  spoke  of  coming,  and  of  course  he  threw  open 
the  doors  of  the  house  to  them.  He  would  not  have  been  a 
Highlander  if  he  had  done  anything  else,  auntie  ;  and  I  know 
you  won't  be  the  one  to  make  him  break  off  an  invitation. 
And  if  we  cannot  give  them  grand  entertainments  at  Dare, 
we  can  give  them  a  Highland  welcome,  anyway." 

This  appeal  to  the  Highland  pride  of  the  mother  was 
not  to  be  withstood. 

"  Very  well,  Keith,"  said  she.  "  We  shall  do  what  we 
can  for  your  friends,  though  it  isn't  much  in  this  old  place." 


224  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"  She  will  not  look  at  it  that  way,"  he  said,  eagerly,  "  I 
know  that.  She  will  be  proud  to  meet  you,  mother,  and  to 
shake  hands  with  you,  and  to  go  about  with  you,  and  do  just 
whatever  you  are  doing—" 

Lady  Macleod  started. 

"  How  long  do  you  propose  this  visit  should  last  ?  "  she 
said. 

*'  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  said,  hastily.  •  "  But  you  know, 
mother,  you  would  not  hurry  your  guests ;  for  I  am  sure  you 
would  be  as  proud  as  any  one  to  show  them  that  we  had 
things  worth  seeing.  We  shoufd  take  her  to  the  cathedral 
at  lona  on  some  moonlight  night  ;  and  then  some  day  we 
could  go  out  to  the  Dubh  Artach  lighthouse — and  you  know 
how  the  men  are  delighted  to  see  a  new  face — " 

"You  would  never  think  of  that,  Keith,"  his  cousin  said. 
"  Do  you  think  a  London  young  lady  would  have  the  cour- 
age to  be  swung  on  to  the  rocks  and  to  climb  up  all  those  steps 
outside  .? " 

"  She  has  the  courage  for  that  or  for  anything,"  said  he. 
"  And  then,  you  know,  she  would  be  greatly  interested  in  the 
clouds  of  puffins  and  the  skarts  behind  Staffa,  and  we  would 
take  her  to  the  great  caves  in  the  cliffs  at  Gribun  ;  and  I  have 
no  doubt  she  would  like  to  go  out  to  one  of  the  uninhabited 
islands." 

Lady  Macleod  had  preserved  a  stern  silence.  When 
she  had  so  far  yielded  as  to  promise  to  ask  those  two  stran- 
gers to  come  to  Castle  Dare  on  their  round  of  the  Western 
Islands,  she  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  their  visit  would 
necessarily  be  of  the  briefest ;  but  the  projects  of  which 
Keith  Macleod  now  spoke  seemed  to  suggest  something  like 
a  summer  passed  at  Dare.  And  he  went  on  talking  in  this 
strain,  nervously  delighted  with  the  pictures  that  each  prom- 
ised excursion  called  up.  Miss  White  would  be  charmed 
with  this,  and  delighted  with  that.  Janet  would  find  her  so 
pleasant  a  companion ;  the  mother  would  be  inclined  to  pet 
her  at  first  sight. 

"  She  is  already  anxious  to  make  your  acquaintance 
mother,"  said  he  to  the  proud  old  dame  who  sat  there  omin- 
ously silent.  "  And  she  could  think  of  no  other  message  to 
send  you  than  this — it  belonged  to  her  mother." 

He  opened  the  little  package — of  old  lace,  or  something 
of  that  kind — and  handed  it  to  his  mother ;  and  at  the  same 
time,  his  impetuosity  carrying  him  on,  he  said  that  perhaps, 


MA  CL  EOD  OF  DA  RE.  225 

the  mother  would  write  now  and  projDose  the  visit  in  the  sum- 
mer. 

At  this  Lady  Macleod's  surprise  overcame  her  reserve. 

"  You  must  be  mad,  Keith  !  To  write  in  the  middle  of 
winter  and  send  an  invitation  for  the  summer!  And  really 
the  whole  thing  is  so  extraordinary — a  present  coming  to  me 
from  an  absolute  stranger — and  that  stranger  an  actress  who 
is  quite  unknown  to  any  one  I  know — " 

"  Mother,  mother,"  he  cried,  "  don't  say  any  more.  She 
has  promised  to  be  my  wife." 

Lady  Macleod  stared  at  him  as  if  to  see  whether  he  had 
really  gone  mad,  and  rose  and  pushed  back  her  chair. 

"  Keith,"  she  said,  slowly  and  with  a  cold  dignity,  "  when 
you  choose  a  wife,  I  hope  I  will  be  the  first  to  vv'elcome  her, 
and  I  shall  be  proud  to  see  you  with  a  wife  worthy  of  the 
name  that  you  bear ;  but  in  the  meantime  I  do  not  think 
that  such  a  subject  should  be  made  the  occasion  of  a  foolish 
jest." 

And  with  that  she  left  the  apartment,  and  Keith  Macleod 
turned  in  a  bewildered  sort  of  fashion  to  his  cousin.  Janet 
Macleod  had  risen  too ;  she  was  regarding  him  with  anxious 
and  troubled  and  tender  eyes. 

"  Janet,"  said  he,  "  it  is  no  jest  at  all  !  " 

"  I  know  that,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice,  and  her  face  was 
somewhat  pale.  "  I  have  known  that.  I  knew  it  before  you 
went  away  to  England  this  last  time." 

And  suddenly  she  went  over  to  him  and  bravely  held  out  her 
hand  ;  and  there  were  quick  tears  in  the  beautiful  gray  eyes. 

"  Keith,"  said  she,  "  there  is  no  one  will  be  more  proud 
to  see  you  happy  than  I ;  and  I  will  do  what  I  can  for  you 
now,  if  you  will  let  me,  for  I  see  your  whole  heart  is  set  on  it ; 
and  how  can  I  doubt  that  you  have  chosen  a  good  wife  ?  "j 

"  Oh  Janet,  if  you  could  only  see  her  and  know  her  !  " 

She  turned  aside  for  a  moment — only  for  a  moment. 
When  he  next  saw  her  face  she  was  quite  gay. 

"  You  must  know,  Keith,"  said  she,  with  a  smile  shining 
through  the  tears  of  the  friendly  eyes,  "  that  women-folk  are 
very  jealous  ;  and  all  of  a  sudden  you  come  to  auntie  and 
me,  and  tell  us  that  a  stranger  has  taken  away  your  heart 
from  us  and  from  Dare  ;  and  you  must  expect  us  to  be  angry 
and  resentful  just  a  little  bit  at  first." 

"  I  never  could  expect  that  from  you,  Janet,"  said  he.  "  I 
knew  that  was  impossible  from  you." 


226  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"As  for  auntie,  then,"  she   said,  warmly,  "  is  it  not  rat- 

ural  that  she  should  be  surprised  and  perhaps  offended " 

"  But  she  says  she  does  not  believe  it — that  I  am  making 

a  joke  of  it " 

"That  is  only  her  way  of  protesting,  you  know,"  said  the 
wise  cousin.  "  And  you  must  expect  her  to  be  angry  and  ob- 
durate, because  women  have  their  prejudices,  you  know, 
Keith  ;  and  this  young  lady — well,  it  is  a  pity  she  is  not 
known  to  some  one  auntie  knows." 

"  She  is  known  to  Norman  Ogilvie,  and  to  dozens  of  Nor- 
man Ogilvie's  friends,  and  Major  Stuart  has  seen  her,"  said  he, 
quickly  ;  and  then  he  drew  back.  "  But  that  is  nothing.  1 
do  not  choose  to  have  any  one  to  vouch  for  her." 

"  I  know  that ;  I  understand  that,  Keith,"  Janet  Macleod 
said,  gently.  "  It  is  enough  for  me  that  you  have  chosen  her 
to  be  your  wife  ;  I  know  you  would  choose  a  good  woman  to 
be  your  wife  ;  and  it  will  be  enough  for  your  mother  when 
she  comes  to  reflect.     But  you  must  be  patient." 

"  Patient  I  would  be,  if  it  concerned  myself  alone,"  said 

he  ;  "  but  the  reflection — the  insult  of  the  doubt " 

"  Now,  now,  Keith,"  said  she,  "  don't  let  the  hot  blood  of 
the  Macleods  get  the  better  of  you.  You  must  be  patient, 
and  considerate.  If  you  will  sit  down  now  quietly,  and  tell 
me  all  about  the  young  lady,  I  will  be  your  ambasssador,  if 
you  like ;  and  I  think  I  will  be  able  to  persuade  auntie." 

"  I  wonder  if  there  ever  was  any  woman  as  kind  as  you 
are,  Janet  ?  "  said  he,  looking  at  her  with  a  sort  of  wondering 
admiration. 

"  You  must  not  say  that  any  more  now,"  she  said,  with  a 
smile.  "  You  must  consider  the  young  lady  you  have  chosen 
as  perfection  in  all  things.  And  this  is  a  small  matter. 
If  auntie  is  difficult  to  persuade,  and  should  protest,  and  so 
forth,  what  she  says  will  not  hurt  me,  whereas  it  might  hurt 
you  very  sorely.  And  now  you  will  tell  me  all  about  the 
young  lady,  for  I  must  have  my  hands  full  of  arguments  when 
I  go  to  your  mother." 

And  so  this  Court  of  Inquiry  was  formed,  with  one  wit- 
ness not  altogether  unprejudiced  in  giving  his  evidence,  and 
with  a  judge  ready  to  become  the  accomplice  of  the  witness 
at  any  point.  Somehow  Macleod  avoided  speaking  of  Ger- 
trude White's  appearance.  Janet  was  rather  a  plain  woman, 
despite  those  tender  Celtic  eyes.  He  spoke  rather  of  her 
filial  duty  and  her  sisterly  affection ;  he  minutely  described 
her  qualities  as  a  house-mistress  ;  and  he  was  enthusiastic 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


227 


about  the  heroism  she  had  shown  in  determining  to  throw 
aside  the  glittering  triumphs  of  her  calling  to  live  a  simpler 
and  wholesomer  life.  That  passage  in  the  career  of  Miss 
Gcrtiude  White  somewhat  puzzled  Janet  Macleod.  If  it  were 
the  case  that  the  ambitions  and  jealousies  and  simulatCvl 
emotions  of  a  life  devoted  to  art  had  a  demoralizing  and  de- 
grading effect  on  the  character,  why  had  not  the  young  lady 
made  the  discovery  a  little  earlier  ?  What  was  the  reason  of 
her  very  sudden  conversion  ?  It  was  no  doubt  very  noble  on 
her  part,  if  she  really  were  convinced  that  this  continual  stir- 
ring uj)  of  sentiment  without  leading  to  practical  issues  had 
an  unwholesome  influence  on  her  woman's  nature,  to  volun- 
tarily surrender  all  the  intoxication  of  success,  with  its  praises 
and  flatteries.  But  why  was  the  change  in  her  opinion  so 
sudden.?  According  to  Macleod's  own  account.  Miss  Ger- 
trude White,  when  he  first  went  up  to  London,  was  wholly 
given  over  to  the  ambition  of  succeeding  in  her  profession. 
She  was  then  the  "  white  slave."  She  made  no  protest 
against  the  repeatedly  announced  theories  of  her  father  to  the 
effect  that  an  artist  ceased  to  live  for  himself  or  herself,  and 
became  merely  a  medium  for  the  expression  of  the  emotions 
of  others.  Perhaps  the  gentle  cousin  Janet  would  have  had  a 
clearer  view  of  the  whole  case  if  she  had  known  that  Miss  Ger- 
trude White's  awakening  doubts  as  to  the  wholesomeness  of 
simulated  emotions  on  the  human  soul  were  strictly  coincident 
in  point  of  time  with  her  conviction  that  at  any  moment  she 
pleased  she  might  call  herself  Lady  Macleod. 

With  all  the  art  he  knew  he  described  the  beautiful  small 
courtesies  and  tender  ways  of  the  little  household  at  Rose 
Bank ;  and  he  made  it  appear  that  this  youug  lady,  brought 
up  amidst  the  sweet  observances  of  the  South,  was  making 
an  enormous  sacrifice  in  offering  to  brave,  for  his  sake,  the 
transference  to  the  harder  and  harsher  ways  of  the  North. 

"  And,  you  know,  Keith,  she  speaks  a  good  deal  for  her 
self,"  Janet  Macleod  said,  turning  over  the  photographs  and 
looking  at  them  perhaps  a  little  wistfully.  "  It  is  a  pretty 
face.  It  must  make  many  friends  for  her.  If  she  were  here 
herself  now,  I  don't  think  auntie  would  hold  out  for  a 
moment." 

"  That  is  what  I  know,"  said  he,  eagerly.  "  That  is  why 
I  am  anxious  she  should  come  here.  And  if  it  were  only 
possible  to  bring  her  now,  there  would  be  no  more  trouble  ; 
and  I  think  we  could  get  her  to  leave  the  stage — at  least  I 
would  try.     But  how  could  we  ask  her  to  Dare  in  the  winter 


2  28  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

time  ?  The  sea  and  the  rain  would  frighten  her,  and  she 
would  never  consent  to  live  here.  And  perhaps  she  needs 
time  to  quite  make  up  her  mind.  She  said  she  would  edu- 
cate herself  all  the  winter  through,  and  that,  when  I  saw  her 
again,  she  would  be  a  thorough  Highland  woman.  That 
shows  you  how  willing  she  is  to  make  any  sacrifice  if  she 
thinks  it  right." 

"  But  if  she  is  convinced,"  said  Janet,  doubtfully,  "  that 
she  ought  to  leave  the  stage,  why  does  she  not  do  so  at 
once  ?  You  say  her  father  has  enough  money  to  support  the 
family  ? " 

"  Oh  yes,  he  has,"  said  Macleod ;  and  then  he  added, 
with  some  hesitation,  "  well,  Janet,  I  did  not  like  to  press 
that.  She  has  already  granted  so  much.  But  I  might  ask 
her." 

At  this  moment  Lady  Macleod's  maid  came  into  the  hal? 
and  said  that  her  mistress  wished  to  see  Miss  Macleod. 

"  Perhaps  auntie  thinks  I  am  conspiring  with  you  Keith," 
she  said,  laughing,  when  the  girl  had  gone.  *'  Well,  you  will 
leave  the  whole  thing  in  my  hands,  and  I  will  do  what  I  can. 
And  be  patient  and  reasonable,  Keith,  even  if  your  mother 
won't  hear  of  it  for  a  day  or  two.  We  women  are  ver}^  prej- 
udiced against  each  other,  you  know ;  and  we  have  quick 
tempers,  and  we  want  a  little  coaxing  and  persuasion — that 
is  all." 

"You  have  always  been  a  good  friend  to  me,  Janet,"  he 
said. 

"  And  I  hope  it  will  all  turn  out  for  your  happiness, 
Keith,"  she  said,  gently,  as  she  left. 

But  as  for  Lady  Macleod,  when  Janet  reached  her  room, 
the  haughty  old  dame  was  "  neither  to  hold  nor  to  bind." 
There  was  nothing  she  would  not  have  done  for  this  favorite 
son  of  hers  but  this  one  thing.  Give  her  consent  to  such  a 
marriage  ?  The  ghosts  of  all  the  Macleods  of  Dare  would 
call  shame  on  her  ! 

"Oh,  auntie,"  said  the  patient  Janet,  "he  has  been  a 
good  son  to  you  ;  and  you  must  have  known  he  would  marr} 
some  day." 

"  Marry  ?  "  said  the  old  lady,  and  she  turned  a  quick  eye 
on  Janet  herself.  "  I  was  anxious  to  see  him  married  ;  and 
when  he  was  choosing  a  wife  I  think  he  might  have  looked 
nearer  home,  Janet." 

"  What  a  wild  night  it  is  !  "_  said  Janet  Mackleod  quickly, 
and  she  went  for  a  moment  to  the  window,     "  The  Dimara 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


229 


will  be  coming  round  the  Mull  of  Cantire  just  about  now. 
And  where  is  the  present,  auntie,  that  the  young  lady  sent 
you?  You  must  write  and  thank  her  for  that,  at  all  events  ; 
and  shall  I  write  the  letter  for  you  in  the  morning  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

FIRST    IMPRESSIONS. 


Lady  Macleod  remained  obdurate  ;  Janet  went  about  the 
house  with  a  sad  look  on  her  face  ;  and  Macleod,  tired  of  the 
formal  courtesy  that  governed  the  relations  between  his 
mother  and  himself,  spent  most  of  his  time  in  snipe  and  duck 
shooting  about  the  islands — braving  the  wild  winds  and  wilder 
seas  in  a  great,  open  lugsailed  boat,  the  Umpire  having  long 
been  sent  to  her  winter-quarters.  But  the  harsh,  rough  life  had 
its  compensations.  Letters  came  from  the  South — treasures  to 
be  pored  over  night  after  night  with  an  increasing  wonder 
and  admiration.  Miss  Gertrude  White  was  a  charming  letter- 
writer  ;  and  now  there  was  no  restraint  at  all  over  her  frank 
confessions  and  playful  humors.  Her  letters  were  a  prolonged 
chat — bright,  rambling,  merry,  thoughtful,  just  as  the  mood 
occurred.  She  told  him  of  her  small  adventures  and  the  in- 
cidents of  her  everyday  life,  so  that  he  could  delight  himself 
with  vivid  pictures  of  herself  and  her  surroundings.  And 
again  and  again  she  hinted  rather  than  said  that  she  was 
continually  thinking  of  the  Highlands,  and  of  the  great 
change  in  store  for  her. 

"  Yesterday  morning,"  she  wrote,  "  I  was  going  down  the 
Edgeware  Road,  and  whom  should  I  see  but  two  small  boys, 
dressed  as  young  Highlanders,  staring  into  the  window  of  a 
toy-shop.  Stalwart  young  fellows  they  were,  with  ruddy  com- 
plexions and  brown  legs,  and  their  Glengarries  coquettishly 
placed  on  the  side  of  their  head ;  and  I  could  see  at  once 
that  their  plain  kilt  was  no  holiday  dress.  How  could  I  help 
speaking  to  them  ?  I  thought  perhaps  they  had  come  from 
Mull.  And  so  I  went  up  to  them  and  asked  if  they  would  let 
me  buy  a  toy  for  each  of  them.  '  We  dot  money,'  says  the 
younger,  with  a  bold  stare  at  my  impertinence.  *  But  you 
can't  refuse  to  accept  a  present  from  a  lady  1 '  I  said.     '  Oh 


230 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


no,  ma  am,'  said  the  elder  boy,  and  he  politely  raised  his  cap  ; 
and  the  accent  of  his  speech — well,  it  made  my  heart  jump. 
But  I  was  very  nearly  disappointed  when  I  got  them  into  the 
shop  ;  for  I  asked  what  their  name  was  ;  and  they  answered 

*  Lavender.'  '  Why,  surely,  that  is  not  a  Highland,  name,'  I 
said.  *  No,  ma'am,'  said  the  elder  lad  ;  '  but  my  mamma  is 
from  the  Highlands,  and  we  are  from  the  Highlands,  and  we 
are  going  back  to  spend  the  New-year  at  home.'  '  And  where 
is  your  home  ? '  I  asked  ;  but  I  have  forgotten  the  name  of 
the  place  ;  I  understood  it  was  somewhere  away  in  the  North. 
And  then  I  asked  them  if  they  had  ever  been  to  Mu!l.  *  We 
have  passed  it  in  the  Clansman,^  said  the  elder  boy.  *  And 
do  you  know  one  Sir  Keith  Macleod  there  ?  "  I  asked.  '  Oh 
no,  ma'am,'  said  he,  staring  at  me  with  his  clear  blue  eyes  as 
if  I  was  a  ver^"  stupid  person,  *  The  Macleods  are  from  Skye.' 

*  But  surely  one  of  them  may  live  in  Mull,'  I  suggested.  '  The 
Macleods  are  from  Skye,'  he  maintained,  '  and  my  papa  was 
at  Dunvegan  last  year.'  Then  came  the  business  of  choosing 
the  toys  ;  and  the  smaller  child  would  have  a  boat,  though  his 
elder  brother  laughed  at  him,  and  said  something  about  a 
former  boat  of  his  having  been  blown  out  into  Loch  Rogue 
■ — which  seemed  to  me  a  strange  name  for  even  a  Highland 
loch.  But  the  elder  lad,  he  must  needs  have  a  sword  ;  and 
when  I  asked  him  what  he  wanted  that  for,  he  said,  quite 
proudly,  *  To  kill  the  Frenchmen  with.'  *  To  kill  Frenchmen 
with  ? '  I  said  ;  for  this  young  fire-eater  seemed  to  mean  what 
he  said.  *  Yes,  ma'am,'  said  he,  *  for  they  shoot  the  sheep 
out  on  the  Flannan  Islands  when  no  one  sees  them  ;  but  we 
will  catch  them  some  day.'  I  was  afraid  to  ask  him  where 
the  Flannan  Islands  were,  for  I  could  see  he  was  already  re- 
garding me  as  a  very  ignorant  person ;  so  I  had  their  toys 
tied  up  for  them,  and  packed  them  off  home.  '  And  when  you 
get  home,'  I  said  to  them,  '  you  will  give  my  compliments  to 
your  mamma,  and  say  that  you  got  the  ship  and  the  sword 
from  a  lady  who  has  a  great,  liking  for  the  Highland  people.' 

*  Yes,  ma'am,'  says  he,  touching  his  cap  again  with  a  proud 
politeness  ;  and  then  they  went  their  ways,  and  I  saw  them 
no  more." 

Then  the  Christmas-time  came,  with  all  its  mystery,  and 
friendly  observances,  and  associations ;  and  she  described  to 
him  how  Carr}^  and  she  were  engaged  in  decorating  certain 
schools  in  which  they  were  interested,  and  how  a  young  curate 
had  paid  her  a  great  deal  of  attention,  until  some  one  went 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  231 

and  told  him,  as  a  cruel  joke,  that  Miss  White  was  a  cele- 
brated dancer  at  a  music-hall. 

Then,  on  Christmas  morning,  behold,  the  very  first  snow 
of  the  year!  She  got  up  early;  she  went  out  alone;  the 
holiday  world  of  London  was  not  yet  awake. 

"  I  never  in  my  life  saw  anything  more  beautiful,"  she 
wrote  to  him,  "  than  Regent's  Park  this  morning,  in  a  pale 
fog,  with  just  a  sprinkling  of  snow  on  the  green  of  the  grass, 
and  one  great  yellow  mansion  shining  through  the  mist — the 
sunlight  on  it — like  some  magnificent  distant  palace.  And  I 
said  to  myself,  if  I  were  a  poet  or  a  painter  I  would  take  the 
common  things,  and  show  people  the  wonder  and  the  beauty 
of  them ;  for  1  believe  the  sense  of  wonder  is  a  sort  of  light 
that  shines  in  the  soul  of  the  artist ;  and  the  least  bit  of  the 
*  denying  spirit ' — the  utterance  of  the  word  connu — snuffs  it 
out  at  once.  But  then,  dear  Keith,  I  caught  myself  asking 
what  I  had  to  do  with  all  these  dreams,  and  these  theories 
that  papa  would  like  to  have  talked  about.  What  had  I  to 
do  with  art  ?  And  then  I  grew  miserable.  Perhaps  the 
loneliness  of  the  park,  with  only  those  robust,  hurrying 
strangers  crossing,  blowing  their  fingers,  and  pulling  their 
cravats  closer,  had  affected  me  ;  or  perhaps  it  was  that  I  sud- 
denly found  how  helpless  I  am  by  myself.  I  want  a  sustain- 
ing hand,  Keith ;  and  that  is  now  far  away  from  me.  I  can 
do  anything  with  myself  of  set  purpose,  but  it  doesn't  last. 
If  you  remind  me  that  one  ought  generously  to  overlook 
the  faults  of  others — I  generously  overlook  the  faults  of 
others — for  five  minutes.  If  you  remind  me  that  to 
harbor  jealousy  and  envy  is  mean  and  contemptible,  I  make 
an  effort,  and  throw  out  all  jealous  and  envious  thoughts — for 
five  minutes.  And  so  you  see  I  got  discontented  with  myselE ; 
and  I  hated  two  men  who  were  calling  loud  jokes  at  each 
other  as  they  parted  different  ways  ;  and  I  marched  home 
through  the  fog,  feeling  rather  inclined  to  quarrel  with  some- 
body. By  the  way,  did  you  ever  notice  that  you  often  can 
detect  the  relationship  between  people  by  their  similar  mode 
of  walking,  and  that  more  easily  than  by  any  likeness  of 
face  ?  As  I  strolled  home,  I  could  tell  which  of  the  couples 
of  men  walking  before  me  were  brothers  by  the  similar  bend- 
ing of  the  knee  and  the  similar  gait,  even  when  their  features 
were  quite  unlike.  There  was  one  man  whose  fashion  of 
walking  was  really  very  droll ;  his  right  knee  gave  a  sort  of 
preliminary  shake  as  if  it  was  uncertain  which  way  the  foot 
wanted  to  go.     For  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  help  irnit^ti^g 


232 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


him  ;  and  then  I  wondered  what  his  face  would  be  like  if  he 
were  suddenly  to  turn  round  and  catch  me." 

That  still  dream  of  Regent's  Park  in  sunlight  and  snow 
he  carried  about  with  him  as  a  vision — a  picture — even 
amidst  the  blustering  westerly  winds,  and  the  riven  seas  that 
sprung  over  the  rocks  and  swelled  and  roared  away  into  the 
caves  of  Gribun  and  Bourg.  There  was  no  snow  as  yet  up 
here  at  Dare,  but  wild  tempests  shaking  the  house  to  its 
foundations,  and  brief  gleams  of  stormy  sunlight  lighting  up 
the  gray  spindrift  as  it  was  whirled  shoreward  from  the 
breaking  seas  ;  and  then  days  of  slow  and  mournful  rain, 
with  Stalfa,  and  Lunga,  and  the  Dutchman  become  mere  dull 
patches  of  blurred  purple — when  they  were  visible  at  all — on 
the  leaden-hued  and  coldly  rushing  Atlantic. 

"  I  have  passed  through  the  gates  of  the  Palace  of  Art," 
she  wrote,  two  days  later,  from  the  calmer  and  sunnier 
South  ;  "  and  I  have  entered  its  mysterious  halls,  and  I  have 
breathed  for  a  time  the  hushed  atmosphere  of  wonderland 
Do  you  remember  meeting  a  Mr.  Lemuel  at  any  time  at 
Mrs.  Ross's — a  man  with  a  strange,  gray,  tired  face,  and 
large,  wan,  blue  eyes,  and  an  air  as  if  he  were  walking  in  a 
dream  ?  Perhaps  not ;  but,  at  all  events,  he  is  a  .  great 
painter,  who  never  exhibits  to  the  vulgar  crowd,  but  who  is 
worshipped  by  a  select  circle  of  devotees  ;  and  his  house  is 
a  temple  dedicated  to  high  art,  and  only  profound  believers 
are  allowed  to  cross  the  threshold.  Oh  dear  me  !  I  am  not 
a  believer;  but  how  can  I  help  that?  Mr.  Lemuel  is  a 
friend  of  papa's,  however ;  they  have  mysterious  talks  over 
milk-jugs  of  colored  stone,  and  small  pictures  with  gilt  skies, 
and  angels  in  red  and  blue.  Well,  yesterday  he  called  on 
papa,  and  requested  his  permission  to  ask  me  to  sit — or, 
rather,  stand — for  the  heroine  of  his  next  great  work,  which 
is  to  be  an  allegorical  one,  taken  from  the  '  Faery  Queen  '  or 
the  '  Morte  d'Arthur,'  or  some  such  book.  I  protested  ;  it 
was  no  use.  '  Good  gracious,  papa,*  I  said,  '  do  you  know 
what  he  will  make  of  me  ?  He  will  give  me  a  dirty  brown 
face,  and  I  shall  wear  a  dirty  green  dress  ;  and  no  doubt  I 
shall  be  standing  beside  a  pool  of  dirty  blue  water,  with  a 
purple  sky  overhead,  and  a  white  moon  in  it.  The 
chances  are  he  will  dislocate  my  neck,  and  give  me  gaunt 
cheeks  like  a  corpse,  with  a  serpent  under  my  foot,  or  a  flam- 
ing dragon  stretching  his  jaws  behind  my  back.'  Papa  was 
deeply  shocked  at  my  levity.  Was  it  for  me,  an  artist 
(bless  the  mark  !),  to  baulk  the  high  aims  of  art  ?     r>^sidcs 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  233 

it  was  vaguely  hinted  that,  to  reward  me,  certain  afternoon- 
parties  were  to  be  got  up  ;  and  then,  when  I  had  got  out  of  Mer- 
lin-land, and  assured  myself  I  was  human  by  eating  lunch,  I 
was  to  meet  a  goodly  company  of  distinguished  folk — great 
poets,  and  one  or  two  more  mystic  painters,  a  dilettante  duke, 
and  the.  nameless  crowd  of  worshippers  who  would  come  to 
sit  at  the  feet  of  all  these,  and  sigh  adoringly,  and  shake 
their  heads  over  the  Philistinism  of  English  society.  I  don't 
care  for  ugly  mediaeval  maidens  myself,  nor  for  allegorical 
serpents^  nor  for  bloodless  men  with  hollow  cheeks,  supposed 
to  represent  soldierly  valor  ;  if  I  were  an  artist,  I  would 
rather  show  people  the  beauty  of  a  common  brick  wall  when 
the  red  winter  sunset  shines  along  it.  But  perhaps  that  is 
only  my  ignorance,  and  I  may  learn  better  before  Mr.  Lemuel 
has  done  with  me." 

When  Macleod  first  read  this  passage,  a  dark  expression 
came  over  his  face.     He  did  not  like  this  new  project. 

"  And  so,  yesterday  afternoon,"  the  letter  continued, 
"  papa  and  I  went  to  Mr.  Lemuel's  house,  which  is  only  a 
short  way  from  here  ;  and  we  entered,  and  found  ourselves 
in  a  large  circular  and  domed  hall,  pretty  nearly  dark,  and 
with  a  number  of  closed  doors.  It  was  all  hushed,  and  mys- 
terious, and  dim ;  but  there  was  a  little  more  liglit  when  the 
man  opened  one  of  these  doors  and  showed  us  into  a  cham- 
ber— or,  rather,  one  of  a  series  of  chambers — that  seemed  to 
me  at  first  like  a  big  child's  toy-house,  all  painted  and  gilded 
with  red  and  gold.  It  was  bewilderingly  full  of  objects  that 
had  no  ostensible  purpose.  You  could  not  tell  whether  any 
one  of  these  rooms  was  dining-room,  or  drawing-room,  or  any- 
thing else  ;  it  was  all  a  museum  of  wonderful  cabinets  filled 
with  different  sorts  of  ware,  and  trays  of  uncut  precious  stones, 
and  Eastern  jewelry,  and  what  not ;  and  then  you  discov- 
ered that  in  the  panels  of  the  cabinets  were  painted  series  of 
allegorical  heads  on  a  gold  background  ;  and  then  perhaps 
you  stumbled  on  a  painted  glass  window  where  no  window 
'jhould  be.  It  was  a  splendid  blaze  of  color,  no  doubt.  One 
began  to  dream  of  Byzantine  emperors,  and  Moorish  con- 
querors, and  Constantinople  gilt  domes.  But  then — mark 
the  dramatic  effect ! — away  in  the  blaze  of  the  farther  cham- 
ber appears  a  solemn,  slim,  bowed  figure,  dressed  all  in  black 
— the  black  velvet  coat  seemed  even  blacker  than  black — 
and  the  mournful-eyed  man  approached,  and  he  gazed  upon 
us  a  grave  welcome  from  the  pleading,  affected,   tired  eyes. 


234 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


He  had  a  slight  cough,  too,  which  I  rather  fancied  was  as- 
sumed for  the  occasion.  Then  we  all  sat  down,  and  he  talked 
to  us  in  a  low,  sad,  monotonous  voice  ;  and  there  was  a  smell 
of  frankincense  about — no  doubt  a  band  of  worshippers  had 
lately  been  visiting  at  the  shrine  ;  and,  at  papa's  request,  he 
showed  me  some  of  his  trays  of  jewels  with  a  wearied  air. 
And  some  drawings  of  Botticelli  thaf  papa  had  been  speak- 
ing about ;  would  he  look  at  them  now  ?  Oh,  dear  Keith,  the 
wickedness  of  the  human  imagination  !  as  he  went  about  in 
this  limp  and  languid  fashion,  in  the  hushed  room,  with  the 
old-fashioned  scent  in  the  air,  I  wished  I  was  a  street  boy.  I 
wished  I  could  get  close  behind  him,  and  give  a  sudden  yell  ! 
Would  he  fly  into  bits  ?  Would  he  be  so  startled  into  natural- 
ness as  to  swear  ?  And  all  the  time  that  papa  and  he  talked, 
I  dared  scarcely  lift  my  eyes  ;  for  I  could  not  but  think  of 
the  effect  of  that  wild  *  Hi ! '  And  what  if  I  had  burst  into  a 
fit  of  laughter  without  any  apparent  cause  ?  " 

Apparently  Miss  White  had  not  been  much  impressed  by 
her  visit  to  Mr.  Lemuel's  palace  of  art,  and  she  made  there- 
after but  slight  mention  of  it,  though  she  had  been  prevailed 
upon  to  let  the  artist  borrow  the  expression  of  her  face  for 
his  forthcoming  picture.  She  had  other  things  to  think 
about  now,  when  she  wrote  to  Castle  Dare. 

For  one  day  Lady  Macleod  went  into  her  son's  room  and 
said  to  him,  "  Here  is  a  letter,  Keith,  which  I  have  written  to 
Miss  White.     I  wish  you  to  read  it." 

He  jumped  to  his  feet,  and  hastily  ran  his  eyes  over  the 
letter.  It  was  a  trifle  formal,  it  is  true  ;  but  it  was  kind,  and 
It  expressed  the  hope  that  Miss  White  and  her  father  would 
next  summer  visit  Castle  Dare.  The  young  man  threw  his 
arms  round  his  mother's  neck  and  kissed  her.  "  That  is  like 
a  good  mother,"  said  he.  "  Do  you  know  how  happy  she 
will  be  when  she  receives  this  message  from  you  ?  " 

Lady  Macleod  left  him  the  letter  to  address.  He  read 
it  over  carefully  ;  and  though  he  saw  that  the  handwriting 
was  the  handwriting  of  his  mother,  he  knew  that  the  spirit 
that  had  prompted  these  words  was  that  of  the  gentle  cousin 
Janet. 

This  concession  had  almost  been  forced  from  the  old  lady 
by  the  patience  and  mild  persistence  of  Janet  Macleod  ;  but 
if  anything  could  have  assured  her  that  she  had  acted  prop- 
erly in  yielding,  it  was  the  answer  which  Miss  Gertrude 
White  sent  in  return.  Miss  White  wrote  that  letter  several 
times  over  before  sending  it  oft',  and  it  was  a  clever  piece  ol 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


235 


composition.  The  timid  expressions  of  gratitude  ;  the  hints 
of  the  writer's  sympathy  with  the  romance  of  the  Highlands 
and  the  Highland  character;  the  deference  shown  by  youth 
to  age  ;  and  here  and  there  just  the  smallest  glimpse  of  hu- 
mor, 10  show  that  Miss  White,  though  very  humble  and 
respectful  and  all  that,  was  not  a  mere  fool.  Lady  Macleod 
was  pleased  by  this  letter.  She  showed  it  to  her  son  one 
night  at  dinner.  "It  is  a  pretty  hand,"  she  remarked,  criti- 
cally. 

Keith  Macleod  read  it  with  a  proud  heart.  "  Can  you  not 
gather  what  kind  of  woman  she  is  from  that  letter  alone  ? " 
he  said,  eagerly.  "I  can  almost  hear  her  talk  in  it.  Janet, 
will  you  read  it  too  ?  " 

Janet  Macleod  took  the  small  sheet  of  perfumed  paper 
and  read  it  calmly,  and  handed  it  back  to  her  aunt.  "  It  is 
a  nice  letter,"  said  she.  "  We  must  try  to  make  Dare  as 
bright  as  maybe  when  she  comes  to  see  us,  that  she  will  not 
go  back  to  England  with  a  bad  account  of  the  Highland  peo- 
ple." That  was  all  that  was  said  at  the  time  about  the  prom- 
ised visit  of  Miss  Gertrude  White  to  Castle  Dare.  It  was  only 
as  a  visitor  that  Lady  Macleod  had  consented  to  receive  her. 
There  was  no  word  mentioned  on  either  side  of  anything  fur- 
ther than  that.  Mr.  White  and  his  daughter  were  to  be  in  the 
Highlands  next  summer  ;  they  would  be  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Castle  Dare  ;  Lady  Macleod  would  be  glad  to  entertain 
them  for  a  time,  and  make  the  acquaintance  of  two  of  her 
son's  friends.  At  all  events,  the  proud  old  lady  would  be 
able  to  see  what  sort  of  woman  this  was  whom  Keith  Mac- 
leod had  chosen  to  be  his  wife. 

And  so  the  winter  days  and  nights  and  weeks  dragged 
slowly  by ;  but  always,  from  time  to  time,  came  those  merry 
and  tender  and  playful  letters  from  the  South,  which  he  lis- 
tened to  rather  than  read.  It  was  her  very  voice  that  was 
speaking  to  him,  and  in  imagination  he  went  about  with  her. 
He  strolled  with  her  over  the  crisp  grass,  whitened  with  hoar- 
frost, of  the  Regent's  Park  ;  he  hurried  home  with  her  in  the 
chill  gray  afternoons — the  yellow  gas-lamps  being  lit — to  the 
little  tea-table.  When  she  visited  a  picture  gallery,  she  sent 
him  a  full  report  of  that,  even. 

"  Why  is  it,"  she  asked,  "  that  one  is  so  delighted  to  look 
a  long  distance,  even  when  the  view  is  quite  uninteresting  t 
I  wonder  if  that  is  why  I  greatly  prefer  landscapes  to  figure 
subjects.  The  latter  always  seeni  to  me  to  be  painted 
from  models  just  come  from  the  Hampstead  Road.  There  was 


236  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

scarcely  a  sea-piece  in  the  exhibition  that  was  not  spoiled  by 
figures,  put  in  for  the  sake  of  picturesqueness,  I  suppose. 
Why,  when  you  are  by  the  sea  you  want  to  be  alone,  surely ! 
Ah,  if  1  could  only  have  a  look  at  those  winter  seas  you  speak 
of  !" 

He  did  not  echo  that  wish  at  all.  Even  as  he  read  he 
could  hear  the  thunderous  booming  of  the  breakers  into  the 
giant  caves.  Was  it  for  a  pale  rose-leaf  to  brave  that  fell  wind 
that  tore  the  waves  into  spindrift,  and  howled  through  the 
lonely  chasms  of  Ben-an-Sloich  ? 

To  one  of  these  precious  documents,  written  in  the  small, 
neat  hand  on  pink-toned  and  perfumed  paper,  a  postcript  was 
added  :  "  If  you  keep  my  letters,"  she  wrote,  and  he  laughed 
when  he  saw  that  {/j  "  I  wish  you  would  go  back  to  the  one 
in  which  I  told  you  of  papa  and  me  calling  at  Mr.  Lemuel's 
house,  and  I  wish,  dear  Keith,  you  would  burn  it.  I  am  sure 
it  was  very  cruel  and  unjust.  One  often  makes  the  mistake 
of  thinking  people  affected  when  there  is  no  affectation  about 
them.  And  if  a  man  has  injured  his  health  and  made  an  in- 
valid of  himself,  through  his  intense  and  constant  devotion  to 
his  work,  surely  that  is  not  anything  to  be  laughed  at  ?  What- 
ever Mr.  Lemuel  may  be,  he  is,  at  all  events,  desperately  in 
earnest.  The  passion  that  he  has  for  his  art,  and  his  patience 
and  concentration  and  self-sacrifice,  seems  to  me  to  be  noth- 
ing less  than  noble.  And  so,  dear  Keith,  will  you  please  to 
burn  that  impertinent  letter  ?  " 

Macleod  sought  out  the  letter  and  carefully  read  it  over, 
He  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  could  see  no  just  reason 
for  complying  with  her  demand.  Frequently  first  impressions 
are  best. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A    GRAVE. 


In  the  by-gone  days,  this  eager,  active,  s<tout-I imbed 
young  fellow  had  met  the  hardest  winter  with  a  glad  heart. 
He  rejoiced  in  its  thousand  various  pursuits  ;  he  set  his 
teeth  against  the  driving  hail ;  he  laughed  at  the  drenching 
spray  that  sprung  high  over  the  bows  of  his  boat ;  and  what 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  237 

harm  ever  came  to  him  if  he  took  the  short-cue  across  the 
upper  reaches  of  Loch  Scridain,  wading  waist-deep  through 
a  mile  of  sea-water  on  a  bitter  January  day  ?  And  where 
was  the  loneliness  of  his  life  when  always,  wherever  he  went 
by  sea  or  shore^  he  had  these  old  friends  around  him — -the 
red-beaked  sea-pyots  whirring  along  the  rocks ;  and  the 
startled  curlews,  whistling  their  warning  note  across  the  sea ; 
and  the  shy  duck  swimming  far  out  on  the  smooth  lochs  ; 
to  say  nothing  of  the  black  game  that  would  scarcely  move 
from  their  perch  on  the  larch-trees  as  he  approached,  and 
the  deer  that  were  more  distinctly  visible  on  the  far  heights 
of  Ben-an-Sloich  when  a  slight  sprinkling  of  snow  had  fallen  ? 

But  now  all  this  was  changed.  The  awfulness  of  the 
dark  winter-time  amidst  those  Northern  seas  overshadowed 
him.  "  It  is  like  going  into  a  grave,"  he  had  said  to  her. 
And,  with  all  his  passionate  longing  to  see  her  and  have 
speech  of  her  once  more,  how  could  he  dare  to  ask  her  to 
approach  these  dismal  solitudes  ?  Sometimes  he  tried  to 
picture  her  coming,  and  to  read  in  imagination  the  look  on 
her  face.  See  now  ! — how  she  clings  terrified  to  the  side  of 
the  big  open  packet-boat  that  crosses  the  Frith  of  Lorn,  and 
she  dares  not  look  abroad  on  the  howling  waste  of  waves. 
The  mountains  of  Mull  rise  sad  and  cold  and  distant  before 
her ;  there  is  no  bright  glint  of  sunshine  to  herald  her  ap- 
proach. This  small  dog-cart,  now :  it  is  a  frail  thing  with 
which  to  plunge  into  the  wild  valleys,  for  surely  a  gust  of 
wind  might  whirl  into  the  chasm  of  roaring  waters  below 
Glen-More  :  who  that  has  ever  seen  Glen-More  on  a  lowering 
January  day  will  ever  forget  it — its  silence,  its  loneliness,  its 
vast  and  lifeless  gloom  ?  Her  face  is  pale  now  ;  she  sits 
speechless  and  awestricken ;  for  the  mountain-walls  that 
overhang  this  sombre  ravine  seem  ready  to  fall  on  her,  and 
there  is  an  awful  darkness  spreading  along  their  summits 
under  the  heavy  swathes  of  cloud.  And  then  those  black 
lakes  far  down  in  the  lone  hollows,  more  death-like  and  terri- 
ble than  any  tourist-haunted  Loch  Coruisk :  would  she  not 
turn  to  him  and,  with  trembling  hands,  implore  him  to  take 
her  back  and  away  to  the  more  familiar  and  bearable  South  ? 
He  began  to  see  all  these  things  with  her  eyes.  He  began 
to  fear  the  awful  things  of  the  winter-time  and  the  seas.  The 
glad  heart  had  gone  out  of  him. 

Even  the  beautiful  aspects  of  the  Highland  winter  had 
something  about  them — an  isolation,  a  terrible  silence — that 
he  grew  almost  to  dread.     What  was  this  strange  thing,  for 


238  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

example  ?  Early  in  the  morning  he  looked  from  the  win- 
dows of  his  room,  and  he  could  have  imagined  he  was  not  at 
Dare  at  all.  All  the  familiar  objects  of  sea  and  shore  had 
disappeared ;  this  was  a  new  world — a  world  of  fantastic 
shapes,  all  moving  and  unknown — a  world  of  vague  masses 
of  gray,  though  here  and  there  a  gleam  of  lemon-color  shin- 
ing through  the  fog  showed  that  the  dawn  was  reflected  on 
a  glassy  sea.  Then  he  began  to  make  out  the  things  around 
him.  That  great  range  of  purple  mountains  was  Ulva — 
Ulva  transfigured  and  become  Alpine  !  Then  those  wan 
gleams  of  yellow  light  on  the  sea  ? — he  went  to  the  other 
window,  and  behold  !  the  heavy  bands  of  cloud  that  lay 
across  the  unseen  peaks  of  Ben-an-Sloich  had  parted,  and 
there  was  a  blaze  of  clear,  metallic,  green  sky;  and  the 
clouds  bordering  on  that  gleam  of  light  were  touched  with  a 
smoky  and  stormy  saffron-hue  that  flashed  and  changed 
amidst  the  seething  and  twisting  shapes  of  the  fog  and  the 
mist.  He  turned  to  the  sea  again — what  phantom-ship  was 
this  that  appeared  in  mid-air,  and  apparently  moving  when 
there  was  no  wind  ?  He  heard  the  sound  of  oars  ;  the  huge 
vessel  turned  out  to  be  only  the  boat  of  the  Gometra  men 
going  out  to  the  lobster-traps.  The  yellow  light  on  the 
glassy  plain  waxes  stronger  ;  new  objects  appear  through  the 
shifting  fog ;  until  at  last  a  sudden  opening  shows  him  a 
wonderful  thing  far  away — apparently  at  the  very  confines  of 
the  world — and  awful  in  its  solitary  splendor.  For  that  is 
the  distant  island  of  Staffa,  and  it  has  caught  the  colors  of 
the  dawn ;  and  amidst  the  cold  grays  of  the  sea  it  shines  a 
pale,  transparent  rose. 

He  would  like  to  have  sent  her,  if  he  had  got  any  skill  of 
the  brush,  some  brief  memorandum  of  that  beautiful  thing ; 
but  indeed,  and  in  any  case,  that  was  not  the  sort  of  painting 
she  seemed  to  care  for  just  then.  Mr.  Lemuel,  and  his  Pal- 
ace of  Art,  and  his  mediaeval  saints,  and  what  not,  which  had 
all  for  a  time  disappeared  from  Miss  White's  letters,  began 
now  to  monopolize  a  good  deal  of  space  there  ;  and  there  was 
no  longer  any  impertinent  playfulness  in  her  references,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  a  respect  and  admiration  that  occasionally 
almost  touched  enthusiasm.  From  hints  more  than  state- 
ments Macleod  gathered  that  Miss  White  had  been  made 
much  of  by  the  people  frequenting  Mr.  Lemuel's  house.  She 
had  there  met  one  or  two  gentlemen  who  had  written  very 
fine  things  about  her  in  the  papers  ;  and  certain  highly  dis- 
tinguished people  had  been  good  enough  to  send  her  cards 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


239 


of  invitation  ;  and  she  had  once  or  twice  been  persuaded  to 
read  some  piece  of  dramatic  poetry  at  Mr.  Lemuel's  after- 
noon parties ;  and  she  even  suggested  that  Mr.  Lemuel 
had  almost  as  much  as  said  that  he  would  like  to  paint  her  por- 
trait. Mr.  Lemuel  had  also  offered  her,  but  she  had  refused 
to  accept,  a  small  but  marvellous  study  by  Pinturicchio,  which 
most  people  considered  the  gem  of  his  collection. 

Macleod,  reading  and  re-reading  these  letters  many  a  time 
in  the  solitudes  of  western  Mull,  came  to  the  opinion  that 
there  must  be  a  good  deal  of  amusement  going  on  in  London. 
And  was  it  not  natural  that  a  young  girl  should  like  to  be 
petted,  and  flattered,  and  made  much  of  ?  Why  should  he 
complain  when  she  wrote  to  say  how  she  enjoyed  this  and  was 
charmed  by  that  ?  Could  he  ask  her  to  exchange  that  gay 
and  pleasant  life  for  this  hibernation  in  Mull  ?  Sometimes 
for  days  together  the  inhabitants  of  Castle  Dare  literally  lived 
in  the  clouds.  Dense  bands  of  white  mist  lay  all  along  the 
cliffs  ;  and  they  lived  in  a  semi-darkness,  with  the  mourn- 
ful dripping  of  the  rain  on  the  wet  garden,  and  the  mournful 
wash  of  the  sea  all  around  the  shores.  He  was  glad,  then, 
that  Gertrude  White  was  not  at  Castle  Dare. 

But  sometimes,  when  he  could  not  forbear  opening  his 
heart  to  her,  and  pressing  her  for  some  more  definite  assur- 
ance as  to  the  future,  the  ordinary  playful  banter  in  which  she 
generally  evaded  his  urgency  gave  place  to  a  tone  of  coldness 
that  astonished  and  alarmed  him.  Why  should  she  so  cruelly 
resent  this  piteous  longing  of  his  ?  Was  she  no  longer,  then, 
so  anxious  to  escape  from  the  thraldom  that  had  seemed  so 
hateful  to  her  ? 

"  Hamish,"  said  Macleod,  abruptly,  after  reading  one  of 
these  letters,  "  come,  now,  we  will  go  and  overhaul  the  Um- 
pire,  for  you  know  she  is  to  be  made  very  smart  this  summer  ; 
for  we  have  people  coming  all  the  way  from  London  to  Dare, 
and  they  must  not  think  we  do  not  know  in  Mull  how  to  keep 
a  yacht  in  shipshape." 

"  Ay,  sir,"  said  Hamish ;  "  and  if  we  do  not  know  that  in 
Mull,  where  will  they  be  likely  to  know  that  ?  " 

"  And  you  will  get  the  cushions  in  the  saloon  covered 
again  ;  and  we  will  have  a  new  mirror  for  the  ladies'  cabin, 
and  Miss  Macleod,  if  you  ask  her,  will  put  a  piece  of  lace 
round  the  top  of  that,  to  make  it  look  like  a  lady's  room. 
And  then,  you  know,  Hamish,  you  can  show  the  little  boy 
Johnny  Wickes  how  to  polish  the  brass  ;  and  he  will  polish 
the  brass  in  the  ladies'  cabin  until  it  is  as  white  as  silver. 


240 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


Because,  you  know,  Hamish,  they  have  very  fine  yachts  in 
the  South.  They  are  like  hotels  on  the  water.  We  must  try 
to  be  as  smart  as  we  can." 

"  I  do  not  know  about  the  hotels,"  said  Hamish,  scorn- 
fully. "  And  perhaps  it  is  a  fine  thing  to  hef  a  hotel ;  and 
ISIr.  M'Arthur  they  say  he  is  a  ferry  rich  man,  and  he  has 
ferry  fine  pictures  too  ;  but  I  was  thinking  that  if  I  will  be 
off  the  Barra  Head  on  a  bad  night — between  the  Sgirobh 
bhan  and  the  Barra  Head  on  a  bad  night — it  is  not  any  hotel 
I  will  be  wishing  that  I  wass  in,  but  a  good  boat.  And  the 
Umpire  she  is  a  good  boat ;  and  I  hef  no  fear  of  going  any- 
where in  the  world  with  her — to  London  or  to  Inverary,  ay, 
or  the  Queen's  own  castle  on  the  island — and  she  will  go 
there  safe,  and  she  will  come  back  safe  ;  and  if  she  is  not  a 
hotel — well,  perhaps  she  will  not  be  a  hotel ;  but  she  is  a  fine 
good  boat,  and  she  has  swinging  lamps  whatever." 

But  even  the  presence  of  the  swinging-lamps,  which  Ham- 
ish regarded  as  the  highest  conceivable  point  of  luxury,  did 
little  to  lessen  the  dolorousness  of  the  appearance  of  the 
poor  old  Umpire.  As  Macleod,  seated  in  the  stern  of  the 
gig,  approached  her,  she  looked  like  some  dingy  old 
hulk  relegated  to  the  duty  of  keeping  stores.  Her  topmast 
and  bowsprit  removed  ;  not  a  stitch  of  cord  on  her  ;  only  the 
black  iron  shrouds  remaining  of  all  her  rigging ;  her  skylights 
and  companion-hatch  cov^ered  with  waterproof — it  was  a  sorry 
spectacle.  And  then  when  they  went  below,  even  the  swdng- 
ing-lamps  were  blue-moulded  and  stiff.  There  was  an  odor 
of  damp  straw  throughout.  All  the  cushions  and  carpets  had 
been  removed  ;  there  was  nothing  but  the  bare  wood  of  the 
floor  and  the  couches  and  the  table  ;  with  a  match-box  satu- 
rated with  wet,  an  empty  wine-bottle,  a  newspaper  five  months 
old,  a  rusty  corkscrew,  a  patch  of  dirty  water — the  leakage 
from  the  skylight  overhead. 

That  was  what  Hamish  saw. 

What  Macleod  saw,  as  he  stood  there  absently  staring  at 
the  bare  wood,  was  very  different.  It  was  a  beautiful,  com- 
fortable saloon  that  he  saw,  all  brightly  furnished  and  gilded, 
and  there  was  a  dish  of  flowers — heather  and  rowan-berries 
intermixed — on  the  soft  red  cover  of  the  table.  And  who  is 
this  that  is  sitting  there,  clad  in  sailor-like  blue  and  white, 
and  laughing,  as  she  talks  in  her  soft  English  speech  ?  He  is 
telling  her  that,  if  she  means  to  be  a  sailor's  bride,  she  must 
give  up  the  wearing  of  gloves  on  board  ship,  although,  to  be 
sure,  those  gloved  small  hands  look  pretty  enough  as  they 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


24T 


rest  on  the  table  and  play  with  a  bit  of  bell-heather.  How 
bright  her  smile  is.  She  18  in  a  mood  for  teasing  people. 
The  laughing  face,  but  for  the  gentleness  of  the  eyes,  would 
be  audacious.  They  say  that  the  width  between  those  long- 
lashed  eyes  is  a  common  peculiarity  of  the  artist's  face  ;  but  she 
is  no  longer  an  artist ;  she  is  only  the  brave  young  yachtswo- 
man who  lives  at  Castle  Dare.  The  shepherds  know  her,  and 
answer  her  in  the  Gaelic  when  she  speaks  to  them  in  pass- 
ing ;  the  sailors  know  her,  and  would  adventure  their  lives 
to  gratify  her  slightest  wish ;  and  the  bearded  fellows  who 
live  their  solitary  life  far  out  at  Dubh  Artach  lighthouse, 
when  she  goes  out  to  them  with  a  new  parcel  of  books  and 
magazines,  do  not  know  how  to  show  their  gladness  at  the 
very  sight  of  her  bonnie  face.  There  was  once  an  actress  of 
the  same  name,  but  this  is  quite  a  different  woman.  And  to- 
morrow— do  you  know  what  she  is  going  to  do  to-morrow  ? — 
to-morrow  she  is  going  away  in  this  very  yacht  to  a  loch  in 
the  distant  island  of  Lewis,  and  she  is  going  to  bring  back 
with  her  some  friends  of  hers  who  live  there  ;  and  there  will 
be  high  holiday  at  Castle  Dare.  An  actress  ?  Her  cheeks 
are  too  sun-browned  for  the  cheeks  of  an  actress. 

"  Well,  sir  ?  "  Hamish  said,  at  length  ;  and  Macleod 
started. 

**  Very  well,  then,"  he  said,  impatiently,  "  why  don't  you 
go  on  deck  and  find  out  where  the  leakage  of  the  skylight  is  ?  " 

Hamish  was  not  used  to  being  addressed  in  this  fashion, 
and  walked  away  with  a  proud  and  hurt  air.  As  he  ascended 
the  companion-way,  he  was  muttering  to  himself  in  his  native 
tongue, — 

"  Yes,  I  am  going  to  find  out  where  the  leakage  is,  but 
perhaps  it  would  be  easier  to  find  out  below  where  the  leak- 
age is.  If  there  is  something  the  matter  with  the  keel,  is  it 
the  cross-trees  you  will  go  to  to  look  for  it  1  But  I  do  not  know 
what  has  come  to  the  young  master  of  late." 

VVhen  Keith  Macleod  was  alone,  he  sat  down  on  the 
wooden  bench  and  took  out  a  letter,  and  tried  to  find  there 
some  assurance  tha'  this  beautiful  vision  of  his  would  some 
day  be  realized.  Ho  read  it  and  re-read  it ;  but  his  anxious 
scrutiny  only  left  him  the  more  disheartened.  He  went  up 
on  deck.  He  talked  to  Hamish  in  a  perfunctory  manner 
about  the  smartening  up  of  the  Umpire,  He  appeared  to 
have  lost  interest  in  that  already. 

And  then  again  he  would  seek  relief  in  hard  work,  and 
try  to  forget  altogether  this  hated  time  of  enforced  absence. 


242 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


One  night  word  was  brought  by  some  one  that  the  typhoid 
fever  had  broken  out  in  the  ill-drained  cottages  of  lona,  and 
he  said  at  once  that  next  morning  he  would  go  round  to  Bun- 
essan  and  ask  the  sanitary  inspector  there  to  be  so  kind  as 
to  inquire  into  this  matter,  and  see  whether  something  could 
not  be  done  to  improve  these  hovels. 

"  I  am  sure  the  duke  does  not  know  of  it,  Keith,"  his 
cousin  Janet  said,  "  or  he  would  have  a  great  alteration 
made." 

"It  is  easy  to  make  alterations,"  said  he,  "but  it  is  not 
easy  to  make  the  poor  people  take  advantage  of  them.  They 
have  such  good  health  from  the  sea-air  that  they  will  not  pay 
attention  to  ordinary  cleanliness.  But  now  that  two  or  three 
of  the  young  girls  and  children  are  ill,  perhaps  it  is  a  good 
time  to  have  something  done." 

Next  morning,  when  he  rose  before  it  was  daybreak,  there 
was  every  promise  of  a  fine  day.  The  full  moon  was  setting 
behind  the  western  seas,  lighting  up  the  clouds  there  with  a 
dusky  yellow  ;  in  the  east  there  was  a  wilder  glare  of  steely 
blue  high  up  over  the  intense  blackness  on  the  back  of  Ben- 
an-Sloich  ;  and  the  morning  was  still,  for  he  heard,  suddenly 
piercing  the  silence,  the  whistle  of  a  curlew,  and  that  became 
more  and  more  remote  as  the  unseen  bird  winged  its  flight 
far  over  the  sea.  He  lit  the  candles,  and  made  the  neces- 
sary preparations  for  his  journey ;  for  he  had  some  mes- 
sage to  leave  at  Kinloch,  at  the  head  of  Loch  Scridain,  and 
he  was  going  to  ride  round  that  way.  By  and  by  the  morn- 
ing light  had  increased  so  much  that  he  blew  out  the  candles. 

No  sooner  had  he  done  this  than  his  eye  caught  sight  of 
something  outside  that  startled  him.  It  seemed  as  though 
great  clouds  of  golden-white,  all  ablaze  in  sunshine,  rested 
on  the  dark  bosom  of  the  deep.  Instantly  he  went  to  the 
window  ;  and  then  he  saw  that  these  clouds  were  not  clouds 
at  all,  but  the  islands  around  glittering  in  the  "  white  wonder 
of  the  snow,"  and  catching  here  and  there  the  shafts  of  the 
early  sunlight  that  now  streamed  through  the  valleys  of  Mull. 
The  sudden  marvel  of  it !  There  was  Ulva,  shining  beautiful 
as  in  a  sparkling  bridal  veil ;  and  Gometra  a  paler  blue-white 
in  the  shadow  ;  and  Colonsay  and  Erisgeir  also  a  cold  white  ; 
and  Staffa  pale  gray;  and  ihen  the  sea  that  the  gleaming 
islands  rested  on  was  a  mirror  of  pale-green  and  rose-purple 
hues  reflected  from  the  morning  sky.  It  was  all  dream-like, 
so  still,  and  beautiful,  and  silent.  But  he  now  saw  that  that 
fine  morning  would  not  last.     Behind  the  house  clouds  of  a 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  243 

suffused  yellow  began  to  blot  out  the  sparkling  peaks  of  Ben- 
an-Sloich.  The  colors  of  the  plain  of  the  sea  were  troubled 
with  gusts  of  wind  until  they  disappeared  altogether.  The 
sky  in  the  north  grew  an  ominous  black,  until  the  farther 
shores  of  Loch  Tua  were  dazzling  white  against  that  bank  of 
angry  cloud.     But  to  Bunessan  he  would  go. 

Janet  Macleod  was  not  much  afraid  of  the  weather  at  any 
time,  but  she  said  to  him  at  breakfast,  in  a  laughing  way. 

"  And  if  you  are  lost  in  a  snowdrift  in  Glen  Finichen, 
Keith,  what  are  we  to  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  What  are  you  to  do  for  me  ? — why,  Donald  will  make  a 
fine  Lament ;  and  what  more  than  that  t  " 

"  Cannot  you  send  one  of  the  Camerons  with  a  message, 
Keith  ?  "  his  mother  said. 

*'  Well,  mother,"  said  he,  "  I  think  I  will  go  on  to  Fhion- 
fort  and  cross  over  to  lona  myself,  if  Mr.  Mackinnon  will  go 
with  me.  For  it  is.  very  bad  the  cottages  are  there,  I  know  ; 
and  if  I  must  write  to  the  duke,  it  is  better  that  I  should  have 
made  the  inquiries  myself." 

And,  indeed,when  Macleod  set  out  on  his  stout  young  poiiy 
Jack,  paying  but  little  heed  to  the  cold  driftings  of  sleet  that 
the  sharp  east  wind  was  sending  across,  it  seemed  as  though 
he  were  destined  to  perform  several  charitable  deeds  all  on 
die  one  errand.  For,  firstly,  about  a  mile  from  the  house,  he 
met  Duncan  the  policeman,  who  was  making  his  weekly  round 
in  the  interests  of  morality  and  law  and  order,  and  who  had 
to  have  his  book  signed  by  the  heritor  of  Castle  Dare  as  sure 
witness  that  his  peregrinations  had  extended  so  far.  And 
Duncan  was  not  at  all  sorry  to  be  saved  that  trudge  of  a  mile 
in  the  face  of  those  bitter  blasts  of  sleet;  and  he  was  greatly 
obliged  to  Sir  Keith  Macleod  for  stopping  his  pony,  and  get- 
ting out  his  pencil  with  his  benumbed  fingers,  and  putting 
his  initials  to  the  sheet.  And  then,  again,  when  he  had  got 
into  Glen  Finichen,  he  was  talking  to  the  pony  and  saying, — 

"  Well,  Jack,  I  don't  wonder  you  want  to  stop,  for  the  way 
this  sleet  gets  down  one's  throat  is  rather  choking.  Or  are 
you  afraid  of  the  sheep  loosening  the  rocks  away  up  there, 
and  sending  two  or  three  hundred-weight  on  our  head  ? " 

Then  he  happened  to  look  up  the  steep  sides  of  the  great 
ravine,  and  there,  quite  brown  against  the  snow,  he  saw  a 
sheep  that  had  toppled  over  some  rock,  and  was  now  lying 
with  her  legs  in  the  air.  He  jumped  off  his  pony,  and  left 
Jack  standing  in  tlie  middle  of  the  road.  It  was  a  stiff  climb 
up  that  steep  precipice,  with  the  loose  stones  slipper)'  with 


244 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


the  sleet  and  snow;  but  at  last  he  got  a  good  grip  of  the 
sheep  by  the  back  of  her  neck,  and  hauled  her  out  of  the  hole 
into  which  she  had  fallen,  and  put  her,  somewhat  dazed  but 
apparently  unhurt,  on  her  legs  again.  Then  he  half  slid  and 
half  ran  down  the  slope  again,  and  got  into  the  saddle. 

But  what  was  this  now  .'*  The  sky  in  the  east  had  grown 
quite  black  ;  and  suddenly  this  blackness  began  to  fall  as  i! 
torn  down  by  invisible  hands.  It  came  nearer  and  nearer, 
until  it  resembled  the  dishevelled  hair  of  a  woman.  And  then 
there  was  a  rattle  and  roar  of  wind  and  snow  and  hail  com- 
bined ;  so  that  the  pony  was  nearly  thrown  from  its  feet,  and 
Macleod  was  so  blinded  that,  at  first  he  knew  not  what  to  do. 
Then  he  saw  some  rocks  ahead,  and  he  urged  the  bewildered 
and  staggering  beast  forward  through  the  darkness  of  the 
storm.  Night  seemed  to  have  returned.  There  was  a  flash 
of  lightning  overhead,  and  a  crackle  of  thunder  rolled  down 
the  valley,  heard  louder  than  all  the  howling  of  the  hurricane 
across  the  mountain  sides.  And  then,  when  they  had  reached 
this  place  of  shelter,  Macleod  dismounted,  and  crept  as  close 
as  he  could  into  the  lea  of  the  rocks. 

He  was  startled  by  a  voice  ;  it  was  only  that  of  old  John 
Macintyre,  the  postman,  who  was  glad  enough  to  get  into 
this  place  of  refuge  too. 

^  "  It's  a  bad  day  for  you  to  be  out  this  day,  Sir  Keith," 
said  he,  in  the  Gaelic,  "  and  you  have  no  cause  to  be  out ; 
and  why  will  you  not  go  back  to  Castle  Dare  ?" 

"  Have  you  any  letter  for  me,  John  ?  "  said  he,  eagerly. 

Oh  yes,  there  was  a  letter ;  and  the  old  man  was  aston- 
ished to  see  how  quickly  Sir  Keith  Macleod  took  that  letter, 
and  how  anxiously  he  read  it,  as  though  the  awfulness  of 
the  storm  had  no  concern  for  him  at  all.  And  what  was  it 
all  about,  this  wet  sheet  that  he  had  to  hold  tight  between 
his  hands,  or  the  gust  that  swept  round  the  rocks  would  have 
whirled  it  up  and  away  over  the  giant  ramparts  of  the  Bourg  ? 
It  was  a  very  pretty  letter,  and  rather  merry ;  for  it  was  all 
about  a  fancy-dress  ball  which  was  to  take  place  at  Mr. 
Lemuel's  house  ;  and  all  the  people  were  to  wear  a  Spanish 
costume  of  the  time  of  Philip  IV. ;  and  there  were  to  be  very 
grand  doings  indeed.  And  as  Keith  Macleod  had  nothing 
to  do  in  the  dull  winter-time  but  devote  himself  to  books, 
would  he  be  so  kind  as  to  read  up  about  that  period,  and  ad- 
vise her  as  to  which  historical  character  she  ought  to  assume  .? 

Macleod  burst  out  laughing,  in  a  strange  sort  of  way,  and 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


245 


put  the  wet  letter  in  his  pocket,  and  led  Jack  out  into  the 
road  again. 

"  Sir  Keith,  Sir  Keith  ! "  cried  the  old  man,  "  you  will 
not  go  on  now  ?  "  And  as  he  spoke,  another  blast  of  snow 
tore  across  the  glen,  and  there  was  a  rumble  of  thunder 
among  the  hills. 

"  Why,  John,"  Macleod  called  back  again  from  the  gray 
gloom  of  the  whirling  snow  and  sleet,  "  would  you  have  me 
go  home  and  read  books  too  ?  Do  you  know  what  a  fancy 
dress  ball  is,  John  ?  And  do  you  know  what  they  think  of 
us  in  the  South,  John  :  that  we  have  nothing  to  do  here  in 
winter-time — nothing  to  do  here  but  read  books  ?  " 

The  old  man  heard  him  laughing  to  himself  in  that  odd 
way,  as  he  rode  off  and  disappeared  into  the  driving  snow ; 
and  his  heart  was  heavy  within  him,  and  his  mind  filled  with 
strange  forebodings.  It  was  a  dark  and  an  awful  glen,  this 
great  ravine  that  led  down  to  the  solitary  shores  of  Loch 
Scridain. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

OVER   THE  SEAS. 


But  no  harm  at  all  came  of  that  reckless  ride  through 
the  storm  ;  and  in  a  day  or  two's  time  Macleod  had  almost 
argued  himself  into  the  belief  that  it  was  but  natural  for  a 
young  girl  to  be  fascinated  by  these  new  friends.  And  how 
could  he  protest  against  a  fancy-dress  ball,  when  he  himself 
had  gone  to  one  on  his  brief  visit  to  London  ?  And  it  was 
a  proof  of  her  confidence  in  him  that  she  wished  to  take  his 
advice  about  her  costume. 

Then  he  turned  to  other  matters  ;  for,  as  the  slow  weeks 
went  by,  one  eagerly  disposed  to  look  for  the  signs  of  the 
coming  spring  might  occasionally  detect  a  new  freshness  in 
the  morning  air,  or  even  find  a  little  bit  of  the  whitlow-grass 
in  flower  among  the  moss  of  an  old  wall.  And  Major  Stuart 
had  come  over  to  Dare  once  or  twice  ;  and  had  privately 
given  Lady  Macleod  and  her  niece  such  enthusiastic  ac- 
counts of  Miss  Gertrude  White  that  the  references  to  her 
forthcoming  visit  ceased  to  be  formal  and  became  friendly 


246  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

and  matter  of  course.  It  was  rarely,  however,  that  Keith 
Macleod  mentioned  her  name.  He  did  not  seem  to  wish  for 
any  confidant.     Perhaps  her  letters  were  enough. 

But  on  one  occasion  Janet  Macleod  said  to  him,  with  a 
shy  smile. 

"  I  think  you  must  be  a  very  patient  lover,  Keith,  to 
spend  all  the  winter  here.  Another  young  man  would  have 
wished  to  go  to  London." 

"  And  I  would  go  to  London,  too  ! "  he  said  suddenly, 
and  then  he  stopped.  He  was  somewhat  embarrassed. 
"  Well,  I  will  tell  you,  Janet.  I  do  not  wish  to  see  her  any 
more  as  an  actress,  and  she  says  it  is  better  that  I  do  not 
go  to  London  ;  and — and,  you  know,  she  will  soon  cease  to 
be  an  actress." 

"  But  why  not  now,"  said  Janet  Macleod,  with  some 
wonder,  "  if  she  has  such  a  great  dislike  for  it .''  " 

"  That  I  do  not  know,"  said  he,  somewhat  gloomily. 

But  he  wrote  to  Gertrude  White,  and  pressed  the  point 
once  more,  with  great  respect,  it  is  true,  but  still  with  an 
earnestness  of  pleading  that  showed  how  near  the  matter  lay 
to  his  heart.  It  was  a  letter  that  would  have  touched  most 
women  ;  and  even  Miss  Gertrude  White  was  pleased  to  see 
how  anxiously  interested  he  was  in  her. 

"  But  you  know,  my  dear  Keith,"  she  wrote  back,  "  when 
people  are  going  to  take  a  great  plunge  into  the  sea,  they 
are  warned  to  wet  their  head  first.  And  don't  you  think  I 
should  accustom  myself  to  the  change  you  have  in  store  for 
me  by  degrees  ?  In  any  case,  my  leaving  the  stage  at  the 
present  moment  could  make  no  difference  to  us — you  in  the 
Highlands,  I  in  London.  And  do  you  know,  sir,  that  your 
request  is  particularly  ill-timed ;  for,  as  it  happens,  I  am 
about  to  enter  into  a  new  dramatic  project  of  which  I  should 
probably  never  have  heard  but  for  you.  Does  that  astonish 
you  1  Well,  here  is  the  story.  It  appears  that  you  told  the 
Duchess  of  Wexford  that  I  would  give  her  a  performance  for 
the  new  training-ship  she  is  getting  up ;  and,  being  chal 
lenged,  could  I  break  a  promise  made  by  you  t  And  onl) 
fancy  what  these  clever  people  have  arranged,  to  flatter  their 
own  vanity  in  the  name  of  charity.  They  have  taken  St. 
George's  Hall,  and  the  distinguished  amateurs  have  chosen 
the  play  ;  and  the  play — don't  laugh,  dear  Keith — is  '  Romeo 
and  Juliet ! '  And  I  am  to  play  Juliet  to  the  Romeo  of  the 
Honorable  Captain  Brierley,  who  is  a  very  good-looking  man, 
but  who  is  so  solemn  and  stiff  a  Romeo  that  I  know  I  shall 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  247 

burst  out  laughing  on  the  dreaded  night.  He  is  as  nervous 
now  at  a  morning  rehearsal  as  if  it  were  his  debut  at  Drury 
Lane  ;  and  he  never  even  takes  my  hand  without  an  air  of 
apology,  as  if  he  were  saying,  *  Really,  Miss  White,  you  must 
pardon  me  ;  .1  am  compelled  by  my  part  to  take  your  hand ; 
otherwise  I  would  die  rather  than  be  guilty  of  such  a  liberty. ' 
And  when  he  addresses  me  in  the  balcony-scene,  he  will  not 
look  at  me  ;  he  makes  his  protestations  of  love  to  the  flies ; 
and  when  I  make  my  fine  speeches  to  him,  he  blushes  if  his 
eyes  should  by  chance  meet  mine,  just  as  if  he  had  been 
guilty  of  some  awful  indiscretion.  I  know,  dear  Keith,  you 
don't  like  to  see  me  act,  but  you  might  come  up  for  this  oc- 
casion only.  Friar  Lawrence  is  the  funniest  thing  I  have 
seen  for  ages.  The  nurse,  however.  Lady  Bletherin,  is 
not  at  all  bad.  I  hear  there  is  to  be  a  grand  supper  after- 
wards somewhere,  and  I  have  no  doubt  I  shall  be  presented 
to  a  number  of  ladies  who  will  speak  for  the  first  time  to  an 
actress  and  be  possessed  with  a  wild  fear  ;  only,  if  they  have 
daughters,  I  suppose  they  will  keep  the  fluttering-hearted 
young  things  out  of  the  way,  lest  I  should  suddenly  break 
out  into  blue  flame,  and  then  disappear  through  the  floor.  I 
am  quite  convinced  that  Captain  Brierley  considers  me  a 
bold  person  because  I  look  at  him  when  I  have  to  say, 

"  '  O  gentle  Romeo, 
If  thou  dost  love,  pronounce  it  faithfully ! '  " 

Macleod  crushed  this  letter  together,  and  thrust  it  into 
his  pocket.  He  strode  out  of  the  room,  and  called  for  Ham- 
ish. 

"  Send  Donald  down  to  the  quay,"  said  he,  "  and  tell  them 
to  get  the  boat  ready.     And  he  will  take  down  my  gun  too." 

Old  Hamish,  noticing  the  expression  of  his  master's  eyes, 
went  off  quickly  enough,  and  soon  got  hold  of  Donald,  the 
piper-lad. 

"  Donald,"  said  he,  in  the  Gaelic,  "  you  will  run  down  to 
the  quay  as  fast  as  your  legs  can  carry  you,  and  you  will  tell 
them  to  get  the  boat  ready,  and  not  to  lose  any  time  in  get- 
ting the  boat  ready,  and  to  have  the  seat  dry,  and  let  there 
be  no  talking  when  Sir  Keith  gets  on  board.  And  here  is 
the  gun  too,  and  the  bag ;  and  you  will  tell  them  to  have  no 
talking  among  themselves  this  day." 

When  Macleod  got  down  to  the  small  stone  pier,  the  two 
men  were  in  the  boat.  Johnny  Wickes  was  standing  at  the 
door  of  the  storehouse. 


248  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  for  a  sail,  Johnny  ? "  Macleod  said 
abruptly,  but  there  was  no  longer  that  dangerous  light  in  his 
eyes. 

"  Oh  yes,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  eagerly  ;  for  he  had  long  ago 
lost  his  dread  of  the  sea. 

*'  Get  in,  then,  and  get  up  to  the  bow." 

So  Johnny  Wickes  went  cautiously  down  the  few  slippery 
stone  steps,  half  tumbled  into  the  bottom  of  the  great  open 
boat,  and  then  scrambled  up  to  the  bow. 

"  Where  will  you  be  for  going,  sir  ? "  said  one  of  the  men 
when  Macleod  had  jumped  into  the  stern  and  taken  the 
tiller. 

"  Anwhere — right  out !  "  he  answered,  carelessly. 

But  it  was  all  very  well  to  say  "  right  out !  "  when  there 
was  a  stiif  breeze  blowing  right  in.  Scarcely  had  the  boat 
put  her  nose  out  beyond  the  pier,  and  while  as  yet  there  was 
■but  little  way  on  her,  when  a  big  sea  caught  her,  springing  high 
over  her  bows  and  coming  rattling  down  on  her  with  a  noise 
as  of  pistol-shots.  The  chief  victim  of  this  deluge  was  the 
luckless  Johnny  Wickes,  who  tumbled  down  into  the  bottom 
of  the  boat,  vehemently  blowing  the  salt-water  out  of  his 
mouth,  and  rubbing  his  knuckles  into  his  eyes.  Macleod 
burst  out  laughing. 

"  What's  the  good  of  you  as  a  lookout  ? "  he  cried.  "  Didn't 
you  see  the  water  coming  .'' " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Johnny,  ruefully  laughing,  too.  But  he 
would  not  be  beaten.  He  scrambled  up  again  to  his  post, 
and  clung  there,  despite  the  fierce  wind  and  the  clouds  of 
spray. 

"  Keep  her  close  up,  sir,"  said  the  man  who  had  the  sheet 
of  the  huge  lugsail  in  both  his  hands,  as  he  cast  a  glance 
out  at  the  darkening  sea. 

But  this  great  boat,  rude  and  rough  and  dirty  as  she  ap- 
peared, was  a  splendid  specimen  of  her  class  ;  and  they 
know  how  to  build  such  boats  up  about  that  part  of  the  world. 
No  matter  with  how  staggering  a  plunge  she  went  down  into 
the  yawning  green  gulf,  the  white  foam  hissing  away  from 
her  sides  ;  before  the  next  wave,  high,  awful,  threatening, 
had  come  down  on  her  with  a  crash  as  of  mountains  falling, 
she  had  glided  buoyantly  upward,  and  the  heavy  blow  only 
made  her  bows  spring  the  higher,  as  though  she  would  shake 
herself  free,  like  a  bird,  from  the  wet.  But  it  was  a  wild  day 
to  be  out.  So  heavy  and  black  was  the  sky  in  the  west  that 
the  surface  of  the  sea  out  to  the  horizon  seemed  to  be  a 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  249 

moving  mass  of  white  foam,  with  only  streaks  of  green  and 
purple  in  it.  The  various  islands  changed  every  minute  as 
the  wild  clouds  whirled  past.  Already  the  great  cliffs  about 
Dare  had  grown  distant  and  faint  as  seen  through  the  spray  ; 
and  here  were  the  rocks  of  Colonsay,  black  as  jet  as  they  re- 
appeared through  the  successive  deluges  of  white  foam  ;  and 
far  over  there,  a  still  gloomier  mass  against  the  gloomy  sky 
told  where  the  huge  Atlantic  breakers  were  rolling  in  their 
awful  thunder  into  the  Staffa  caves. 

"  I  would  keep  her  away  a  bit,"  said  the  sailor  next  Mac- 
leod.  He  did  not  like  the  look  of  the  heavy  breakers  that 
were  crashing  on  to  the  Colonsay  rocks. 

Macleod,  with  his  teeth  set  hard  against  the  wind,  was 
not  thinking  of  the  Colonsay  rocks  more  than  was  necessary 
to  give  them  a  respectful  berth. 

"  Were  you  ever  in  a  theatre,  Duncan  ? "  he  said,  or  rath- 
er bawled,  to  the  brown-visaged  and  black-haired  young  fel- 
low who  had  now  got  the  sheet  of  the  lugsail  under  his  foot 
as  well  as  in  the  firm  grip  of  his  hands. 

"  Oh  yes,  Sir  Keith,"  said  he,  as  he  shook  the  salt-water 
away  from  his  short  beard.  "  It  was  at  Greenock.  I  will  be 
at  the  theatre,  and  more  than  three  times  or  two  times." 

"  How  would  you  like  to  have  a  parcel  of  actors  and  act- 
resses with  us  now  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  laugh. 

"  '  Deed,  I  would  not  like  it  at  all,"  said  Duncan,  seri- 
ously ;  and  he  twisted  the  sheet  of  the  sail  twice  round  his 
right  wrist,  so  that  his  relieved  left  hand  could  convey  a  bit 
of  wet  tobacco  to  his  mouth.  "  The  women  they  would  chump 
apout,  and  then  you  do  not  know  what  will  happen  at  all." 

"  A  little  bit  away  yet,  sir  !  "  cried  out  the  other  sailor, 
who  was  looking  out  to  windward,  with  his  head  between  the 
gunwale  and  the  sail.     "  There  is  a  bad  rock  off  the  point." 

"  Why,  it  is  half  a  mile  north  of  our  course  as  we  are 
now  going  !  "  Macleod  said. 

"  Oh  yes,  half  a  mile  !  "  the  man  said  to  himself  \  "  but  I 
do  not  like  half  miles,  and  half  miles,  and  half  miles  on  a 
day  like  this  !  " 

And  so  they  went  plunging  and  staggering  and  bounding 
onward,  with  the  roar  of  the  water  all  around  them,  and  the 
foam  at  her  bows,  as  it  sprung  high  into  the  air,  showing 
quite  white  against  the  black  sky  ahead.  The  younger  lad, 
Duncan,  was  clearly  of  opinion  that  his  master  was  run- 
ning too  near  the  shores  of  Colonsay  ;  but  he  would  say  no 
more,  for  he  knew  that  Macleod  had  a  better  knowledge  of 


750  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

the  currents  and  rocks  of  this  wild  coast  than  any  man  on 
the  mainland  of  Mull.  John  Cameron,  forward,  kept  his 
head  down  to  the  gunwale,  his  eyes  looking  far  over  that 
howling  waste  of  sea  ;  Duncan,  his  younger  brother,  had  his 
gaze  fixed  mostly  on  the  brown  breadth  of  the  sail,  hammered 
at  by  the  gusts  of  wind ;  while  as  for  the  boy  at  the  bow_ 
that  enterprising  youth  had  got  a  rope's  end,  and  was  en- 
tdeavoring  to  strike  at  the  crest  of  each  huge  wave  as  it  came 
ploughing  along  in  its  resistless  strength. 

But  at  one  moment  the  boat  gave  a  heavier  lurch  than 
usual,  and  the  succeeding  wave  struck  her  badly.  In  the 
great  rush  of  water  that  then  ran  by  her  side,  Macleod's 
startled  eye  seemed  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  something  red — 
something  blazing  and  burning  red  in  the  waste  of  green 
and  almost  the  same  glance  showed  him  there  was  no  boy  at 
the  bow  !  Instantly,  with  just  one  cry  to  arrest  the  attention 
of  the  men,  he  had  slipped  over  the  side  of  the  boat  just  as 
an  otter  slips  off  a  rock.  The  two  men  were  bewildered  but 
for  a  second.  One  sprang  to  the  halyards,  and  down  came 
the  great  lugsail ;  the  other  got  out  one  of  the  great  oars, 
and  the  mighty  blade  of  it  ^e  11  into  the  bulk  of  the  next  wave 
as  if  he  would  with  one  sweep  tear  her  head  round.  Like 
two  mad  men  the  men  pulled  ;  and  the  wind  was  with  them, 
and  the  tide  also,  but,  nevertheless,  when  they  caught  sight, 
just  for  a  moment,  of  some  object  behind  them,  that  was  a 
terrible  way  away.  Yet  there  was  no  time,  they  thought,  or 
seemed  to  think,  to  hoist  the  sail  again,  and  the  small  dingy 
attached  to  the  boat  would  have  been  swamped  in  a  second  ; 
and  so  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  the  deadly  struggle  with 
those  immense  blades  against  the  heavy  resisting  mass  of 
the  boat.  John  Cameron  looked  round  again  ;  then,  with  an 
oath,  he.  pulled  his  oar  across  the  boat. 

"  Up  with  the  sail,  lad  !  "  he  shouted  ;  and  again  he  sprang 
to  the  halyards. 

The  seconds,  few  as  they  were,  that  were  necessaty  to 
this  operation  seemed  ages ;  but  no  sooner  had  the  wind  got 
a  purchase  on  the  breadth  of  the  sail,  than  the  boat  flew 
through  the  water,  for  she  was  now  running  free. 

"  He  has  got  him !  I  can  see  the  two  !  "  shouted  the 
elder  Cameron. 

And  as  for  the  younger  ?  At  this  mad  speed  the  boat 
would  be  close  to  Macleod  in  another  second  or  two ;  but  in 
that  brief  space  of  time  the  younger  Cameron  had  flung  his 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


251 


clothes  off,  and  stood  there  stark-naked  in  the  cutting  March 
wind. 

"  That  is  foolishness  !  "  his  brother  cried  in  the  Gaelic. 
"  You  will  have  to  take  an  oar !  " 

"  I  will  not  take  an  oar ! "  the  other  cried,  with  both 
hands  ready  to  let  go  the  halyards.  "  And  if  it  is  foolishness, 
this  is  the  foolishness  of  it :  I  will  not  let  you  or  any  man  say 
that  Sir  Keith  Macleod  was  in  the  water,  and  Duncan  Cam- 
eron went  home  with  a  dry  skin  ! " 

And  Duncan  Cameron  was  as  good  as  his  word ;  for  as 
the  boat  went  plunging  forward  to  the  neighborhood  in  which 
they  occasionally  saw  the  head  of  Macleod  appear  on  the  side 
of  a  wave  and  then  disappear  again  as  soon  as  the  wave 
broke,  and  as  soon  as  the  lugsail  had  been  rattled  down,  he 
sprung  clear  from  the  side  of  the  boat.  For  a  second  or  two, 
John  Cameron,  left  by  himself  in  the  boat,  could  not  see  any 
one  of  the  three  ;  but  at  last  he  saw  the  black  head  of  his 
brother,  and  then  some  few  yards  beyond,  just  as  a  wave 
happened  to  roll  by,  he  saw  his  master  and  the  boy.  The 
boat  had  almost  enough  way  on  her  to  carry  her  the  length ; 
he  had  but  to  pull  at  the  huge  oar  to  bring  her  head  round  a 
bit.  And  he  pulled,  madly  and  blindly,  until  he  was  startled 
by  a  cry  close  by.  He  sprang  to  the  side  of  the  boat.  There 
was  his  brother  drifting  by,  holding  the  boy  with  one  arm. 
John  Cameron  rushed  to  the  stern  to  fling  a  rope,  but  Dun- 
can Cameron  had  been  drifting  by  with  a  purpose  ;  for  as 
soon  as  he  got  clear  of  the  bigger  boat,  he  struck  for  the  rope 
of  the  dingy,  and  got  hold  of  that,  and  was  safe.  And  kere 
was  the  master,  too,  clinging  to  the  side  of  the  dingy  so  as  to 
recover  his  breath,  but  not  attempting  to  board  the  cockle- 
shell in  these  plunging  waters.  There  were  tears  running 
down  John  Cameron's  rugged  face  as  he  drew  the  three  up 
and  over  the  side  of  the  big  boat. 

"  And  if  you  wass  drowned.  Sir  Keith,  it  wass  not  me 
would  have  carried  the  story  to  Castle  Dare.  I  would  just 
as  soon  have  been  drowned  too." 

"  Have  you  any  whiskey,  John  ?  "  Macleod  said,  pushing 
the  hair  out  of  his  eyes,  and  trying  to  get  his  mustache  out 
of  his  mouth. 

In  ordinary  circumstances  John  Cameron  would  have  told 
a  lie  ;  but  on  this  occasion  he  hurriedly  bade  the  still  un- 
dressed Duncan  to  take  the  tiller,  and  he  went  forward  to  a 
locker  at  the  bows,  which  was  usually  kept  for  bait,  and  from 
thence  he  got  a  black  bottle  which  was  half  full. 


252 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


"  Now,  Johnny  Wickes,"  Macleod  said  to  the  boy,  vvhc 
was  quite  blinded  and  bewildered,  but  otherwise  apparently 
not  much  the  worse,  "  swallow  a  mouthful  of  this,  you  young 
rascal ;  and  if  I  catch  you  imitating  a  dolphin  again,  it  is  a 
rope's  end  you'll  have,  and  not  good  Highland  whiskey." 

Johnny  Wickes  did  not  understand  ;  but  he  swallowed 
the  whiskey,  and  then  he  began  to  look  about  him  a  bit. 

"  Will  I  put  my  clothes  round  him.  Sir  Keith  ?  "  Duncan 
Cameron  said. 

"  And  go  home  that  way  to  Dare  ? "  Macleod  said,  with  a 
loud  laugh.  "  Get  on  your  clothes,  Duncan,  lad,  and  get  up 
the  sail  again ;  and  we  will  see  if  there  is  a  dram  left  for  us 
in  the  bottle.  John  Cameron,  confound  you  !  where  are  you 
putting  her  head  to  ?  " 

John  Cameron,  who  had  again  taken  the  tiller,  seemed  as 
one  demented.  He  was  talking  to  himself  rapidly  in  Gaelic, 
and  his  brows  were  frowning ;  and  he  did  not  seem  to  notice 
that  he  was  putting  the  head  of  the  boat,  which  had  now 
some  little  way  on  her  by  reason  of  the  wind  and  tide,  though 
she  had  no  sail  up,  a  good  deal  too  near  the  southernmost 
point  of  Colonsay. 

Roused  from  this  angry  reverie,  he  shifted  her  course  a 
bit ;  and  then,  when  his  brother  had  got  his  clothes  on,  he 
helped  to  hoist  the  sail,  and  again  they  flew  onward  and 
shoreward,  along  with  the  waves  that  seemed  to  be  racing 
them  ;  but  all  the  same  he  kept  grumbling  and  growling  to 
himself  in  Gaelic.  Meanwhile  Macleod  had  got  a  huge  tar- 
paulin overcoat  and  wrapped  Johnny  Wickes  in  it,  and  put 
him  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 

"  You  will  soon  be  warm  enough  in  that.  Master  Wickes," 
said  he  ;  "  the  chances  are  you  will  come  out  boiled  red,  like 
a  lobster.  And  I  would  strongly  advise  you,  if  we  can  slip 
into  the  house  and  get  dry  clothes  on,  not  to  say  a  word  of 
your  escapade  to  Hami^h." 

"  Ay,  Sir  Keith,"  said  John  Cameron,  eagerly,  in  his  na- 
tive tongue,  "  that  is  what  I  will  be  saying  to  myself.  If  the 
story  is  told — and  Hamish  will  hear  that  you  will  nearly 
drown  yourself — what  is  it  he  will  not  do  to  that  boy  ?  It  is 
for  killing  him  he  will  be." 

"  Not  as  bad  as  that,  John,"  Macleod  said,  good-naturedly. 
"  Come,  there  is  a  glass  for  each  of  us  ;  and  you  may  give 
me  the  tiller  now." 

"  I  will  take  no  w^hiskey,  Sir  Keith,  with  thanks  to  you,* 
said  John  Cameron ;  "  I  was  not  in  the  water." 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


«53 


"  There  is  plenty  for  all,  man  !  " 

"  I  was  noL  in  the  water." 

"  I  tell  you  there  is  plenty  for  all  of  us ! 

"There  is  the  more  for  you,  Sir  Keith,"  said  ht,  stub 
bornly. 

And  then,  as  great  good  luck  would  have  it,  it  was  found, 
when  they  got  ashore,  that  Hamish  had  gone  away  as  far  as 
Salen  on  business  of  some  sort  or  other ;  and  the  story  told 
by  the  two  Camerons  was  that  Johnny  Wickes,  whose  clothes 
were  sent  into  the  kitchen  to  be  dried,  and  who  was  himself 
put  to  bed,  had  fallen  into  the  water  down  by  the  quay  ;  and 
nothing  at  all  was  said  about  Keith  Macleod  having  had  to 
leap  into  the  sea  off  the  coast  of  Colonsay.  Macleod  got 
into  Castle  Dare  by  a  back  way,  and  changed  his  clothes  in 
his  own  room.  Then  he  went  away  upstairs  to  the  small 
chamber  in  which  Johnny  Wickes  lay  in  bed. 

"  You  have  had  the  soup,  then  ?  You  look  pretty  com- 
fortable." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  whose  face  was  now  flushed  red 
with  the  reaction  after  the  cold.     "  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir." 

"  For  tumbling  into  the  water  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  look  here,  Master  Wickes  :  you  chose  a  good  time. 
If  I  had  had  trousers  on,  and  waterproof  leggings  over  them, 
do  you  know  where  you  would  be  at  the  present  moment  ? 
You  would  be  having  an  interesting  conversation  with  a 
number  of  lobsters  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  off  the  Colon- 
say  shores.  And  so  you  thought  because  I  had  my  kilt  on, 
that  I  could  fish  you  out  of  the  water  ? " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Johnny  Wickes.  "  I  beg  your  pardon, 
sir." 

"  Well,  you  will  remember  that  it  was  owing  to  the  High- 
land kilt  that  you  were  picked  out  of  the  water,  and  that  it 
was  Highland  whiskey  put  life  into  your  blood  again  ;  you 
will  remember  that  well.  And  if  any  strange  lady  should 
come  here  from  England  and  ask  you  how  you  like  the  High- 
lands, you  will  not  forget  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  And  you  can  have  Oscar  up  here  in  the  room  with  you, 
if  you  like,  until  they  let  you  out  of  bed  again  ;  or  you  can 
have  Donald  to  play  the  pipes  to  you  until  dinner-time." 

Master  Wickes  chose  the  less  heroic  remedy ;  but,  in- 
deed, the  companionship  of  Oscar  was  not  needed  ;  for  Janet 
Macleod — who  mi^ht  just  as  well  have  tried  to  keep  her  heart 


254  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

from  beating  as  to  keep  herself  away  from  any  one  who  was 
ill  or  supposed  to  be  ill — herself  came  up  to  this  little  room, 
and  was  very  attentive  to  Master  Wickes,  not  because  he 
was  suffering  very  much  from  the  effects  of  his  ducking,  but 
because  he  was  a  child,  and  alone,  and  a  stranger.  And  to 
her  Johnny  Wickes  told  the  whole  story,  despite  the  warn- 
ings he  had  received  that,  if  Hamish  came  to  learn  of  the 
peril  in  which  Macleod  had  been  placed  by  the  incaut'.on  of 
the  English  lad,  the  latter  would  have  had  a  bad  time  of  it  at 
Castle  Dare.  Then  Janet  hastened  away  again,  and,  finding 
her  cousin's  bedroom  empty,  entered  ;  and  there  discovered 
that  he  had,  with  customary  recklessness,  hung  up  his  wet 
clothes  in  his  wardrobe.  She  had  them  at  once  conveyed 
away  to  the  lower  regions,  and  she  went,  with  earnest  remon- 
strances, to  her  cousin,  and  would  have  him  drink  some  hot 
whiskey  and  water ;  and  when  Hamish  arrived,  went  straight 
to  him  too,  and  told  him  the  stor)^  in  such  a  way  that  he 
said, — 

"  Ay,  ay,  it  wass  the  poor  little  lad  !  And  he  will  mek  a 
good  sailor  yet.  And  it  was  not  much  dancher  for  him  when 
Sir  Keith  wass  in  the  boat ;  for  there  is  no  one  in  the  whole 
of  the  islands  will  sweem  in  the  water  as  he  can  sweem ;  and 
it  is  like  a  fish  in  the  water  that  he  is." 

That  was  about  the  only  incident  of  note,  and  little  was 
made  of  it,  that  disturbed  the  monotony  of  life  at  Castle  Dare 
at  this  time.  But  by  and  by,  as  the  days  passed,  and  as  eager 
eyes  looked  abroad,  signs  showed  that  the  beautiful  summer- 
time was  drawing  near.  The  deep  blue  came  into  the  skies 
and  the  seas  again  ;  the  yellow  mornings  broke  earlier.  Far 
into  the  evening  they  could  still  make  out  the  Dutchman's 
Cap,  and  Lunga,  and  the  low-lying  Coll  and  Tiree,  amidst  the 
glow  at  the  horizon  after  the  blood-red  sunset  had  gone  down. 
The  white  stars  of  the  saxifrage  appeared  in  the  woods ;  the 
white  daisies  were  in  the  grass.  As  you  walked  along  the 
ower  slopes  of  Ben-an-Sloich,  the  grouse  that  rose  were  in 
pairs.  What  a  fresh  green  this  was  that  shimmered  over  the 
young  larches  !  He  sent  her  a  basket  of  the  first  trout  he 
caught  in  the  loch. 

The  wonderful  glad  time  came  nearer  and  nearer.  And 
every  clear  and  beautiful  day  that  shone  over  the  white  sands 
of  lona  and  the  green  shores  of  Ulva,  with  the  blue  seas  all 
breaking  joyfully  along  the  rocks,  was  but  a  day  thrown  away 
that  should  have  been  reserved  for  her.  And  whether  she 
Cime  by  the  Dunara  from  Greenock,  or  by  the  Pioneer  from 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  255 

Oban,  would  they  hang  the  vessel  in  whkt  roses  in  her  honor, 
and  have  velvet  carpetings  on  the  gangways  for  the  dainty 
small  feet  to  tread  on  ?  and  would  the  bountiful  heavens  grant 
but  one  shining  blue  day  for  her  first  glimpse  of  the  far  and 
lonely  Castle  Dare?  Janet,  the  kind-hearted,  was  busy  from 
morning,  till  night ;  she  herself  would  place  the  scant  flowers 
that  could  be  got  in  the  guests'  rooms.  The  steward  of  tlie 
Pio7ieer  had  undertaken  to  bring  any  number  of  things  from 
Oban  ;  Donald,  the  piper-lad,  had  a  brand-new  suit  of  tartan, 
and  was  determined  that,  short  of  the  very  cracking  of  his 
lungs,  the  English  lady  would  have  a  good  salute  played  for 
her  that  day.  The  Umpire^  all  smartened  up  now,  had  been 
put  in  a  safe  anchorage  in  Loch-na-Keal ;  the  men  wore  their 
new  jerseys  ;  the  long  gig,  painted  white,  with  a  band  of  gold, 
was  brought  along  to  Dare,  so  that  it  might,  if  the  weather 
were  favorable,  go  out  to  bring  the  Fair  Stranger  to  her  High- 
land home.  And  then  the  heart  of  her  lover  cried,  "  O  winds 
and  seas,  if  only  for  one  day,  be  gentle  now  !  so  that  her  fii'st 
thoughts  of  lis  shad  he  all  of  peace  and  loveliness,  and  of  a  glad 
welcome^  and  the  delight  of  clear  summer  days  !  " 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

HAMISH. 


And  now — look  !  The  sky  is  as  blue  as  the  heart  of  a 
Sapphire,  and  the  sea  would  be  as  blue  too,  only  for  the  glad 
white  of  the  rippling  waves.  And  the  wind  is  as  soft  as  the 
winnowing  of  a  sea-gull's  wing  ;  and  green,  green,  are  the 
laughing  shores  of  Ulva.  The  bride  is  coming.  All  around 
the  coast  the  people  are  on  the  alert — Donald  in  his  new 
finery ;  Hamish  half  frantic  with  excitement ;  the  crew  of  the 
Umpire  ^o^xv  at  the  quay ;  and  the  scarlet  flag  fluttering  from 
the  top  of  the  white  pole.  And  behold  ! — as  the  cry  goes 
along  that  the  steamer  is  in  sight,  what  is  this  strange  thing  .? 
She  comes  clear  out  from  the  Sound  of  lona ;  but  who  has 
ever  seen  before  that  long  line  running  from  her  stem  to  her 
top-mast  and  down  again  to  her  stern  t 

"  Oh,  Keith  !  "  Janet  Macleod  cried,  with  sudden  tear* 


256  MACLEOD  OF  DARE > 

Starting  to  her  eyes,  "  do  you  know  what  Captain  Macallum 
has  done  for  you  ?     The  steamer  has  got  all  her  flags  out  1  " 

Macleod  flushed  red. 

"  Well,  Janet,"  said  he,  "  I  wrote  to  Captain  Macullum, 
and  I  asked  him  to  be  so  good  as  to  pay  them  some  little  at- 
tention ;  but  who  was  to  know  that  he  would  do  that  ?  " 

"  And  a  very  proper  thing,  too,"  said  Major  Stuart,  who 
was  standing  hard  by.  '*  A  very  pretty  compliment  to  stran- 
gers ;  and  you  know  you  have  not  many  visitors  coming  to 
Castle  Dare." 

The  major  spoke  in  a  matter  of  fact  way.  Why  should 
not  the  steamer  show  her  bunting  in  honor  of  Macleod's 
guests  !  But  all  the  same  the  gallant  soldier,  as  he  stood 
and  watched  the  steamer  coming  along,  became  a  little  bit 
excited  too  ;  and  he  whistled  to  himself,  and  tapped  his  toe 
on  the  ground.  It  was  a  fine  air  he  was  whistling.  It  was 
all  about  breast-knots ! 

"  Into  the  boat  with  you  now,  lads  !  "  Macleod  called  out ; 
and  first  of  all  to  go  down  to  the  steps  was  Donald  ;  and  the 
silver  and  cairngorms  on  his  pipes  were  burnished  so  that 
they  shone  like  diamonds  in  the  sunlight ;  and  he  wore  his 
cap  so  far  on  one  side  that  nobody  could  understand  how  it 
did  not  fall  off.  Macleod  was  alone  in  the  stern.  Away  the 
white  boat  went  through  the  blue  waves. 

"  Put  your  strength  into  it  now,"  said  he,  in  the  Gaelic, 
"  and  show  them  how  the  Mull  lads  can  row  ! " 

And  then  again — 

"  Steady  now  !     Well  rowed  all !  " 

And  here  are  all  the  people  crowding  to  one  side  of  the 
steamer  to  see  the  strangers  off ;  and  the  captain  is  on  the 
bridge  ;  and  Sandy  is  at  the  open  gangway :  and,  at  the  top 
of  the  iron  steps,  there  is  only  one  Macleod  sees — all  in 
white  and  blue — and  he  has  caught  her  eyes — at  last !  at 
last ! 

He  seized  the  rope  and  sprang  up  the  iron  ladder. 

"  Welcome  to  you,  sweetheart !  "  said  he,  in  a  low  voice, 
and  his  trembling  hand  grasped  hers. 

"  How  do  you,  Keith  ?  "  said  she.  "  Must  we  go  down 
these  steps  ? " 

He  had  no  time  to  wonder  over  the  coldness — the  petu- 
lance almost — of  her  manner  :  for  he  had  to  get  both  father 
and  daughter  safely  conducted  into  the  stern  of  the  boat ; 
and  their  luggage  had  to  be  got  in  ;  and  he  had  to  say  a 
word  or  two  to  the  steward  ;  and  finally  he  had  to  hand  down 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


2t;7 


some  loaves  of  bread  to  the  man  next  him,  who  placed  them 
in  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 

"  The  commissariat  arrangements  are  primitive,"  said  Mr. 
White,  in  an  undertone,  to  his  daughter ;  but  she  made  no 
answer  to  his  words  or  his  smile.  But,  indeed,  even  if  Mac- 
leod  liad  overheard,  he  would  have  taken  no  shame  to  him- 
self that  he  had  secured  a  supply  of  white  bread  for  his 
guests.  Those  who  had  gone  yachting  with  Macleod — Major 
Stuart,  for  example,  or  Norman  Ogilvie — had  soon  learned 
not  to  despise  their  host's  highly  practical  acquaintance  with 
tinned  meats,  pickles,  condensed  milk,  and  suchlike  things. 
Who  was  it  had  proposed  to  erect  a  monument  to  him  for  his 
discovery  of  the  effect  of  introducing  a  leaf  of  lettuce 
steeped  in  vinegar  between  the  folds  of  a  sandwich  ? 

Then  he  jumped  down  into  the  boat  again  ;  and  the  great 
steamer  steamed  away ;  and  the  men  struck  their  oars  into 
the  water. 

"  We  will  soon  take  you  ashore  now,"  said  he,  with  a  glad 
light  on  his  face  ;  but  so  excited  was  he  that  he  could  scarcely 
get  the  tiller-ropes  right ;  and  certainly  he  knew  not  what  he 
was  saying.  And  as  for  her — why  was  she  so  silent  after  the 
long  separation  ?  Had  she  no  word  at  all  for  the  lover  who 
had  so  hungered  for  her  coming  ? 

And  then  Donald,  perched  liigh  at  the  bow,  broke  away 
into  his  wild  welcome  of  her ;  and  there  was  a  sound  now 
louder  than  the  calling  of  the  sea-birds  and  the  rushing  of 
the  seas.  And  if  the  English  lady  knew  that  this  proud  and 
shrill  strain  had  been  composed  in  honor  of  her,  would  it  not 
bring  some  color  of  pleasure  to  the  pale  face  ?  So  thought 
Donald  at  least ;  and  he  had  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  as  he 
played  as  he  had  never  played  before  that  day.  And  if  she 
did  not  know  the  cunning  modulations  and  the  clever  finger- 
ing, Macleod  knew  them,  and  the  men  knew  them  ;  and  after 
they  got  ashore  they  would  say  to  him, — 

"  Donald,  that  was  a  good  pibroch  you  played  for  the 
English  lady.' 

But  what  was  the  English  lady's  thanks  ?  Donald  had 
not  played  over  sixty  seconds  when  she  turned  to  Macleod 
and  said, — 

"  Keith  I  wish  you  would  stop  him.     I  have  a  headache." 

And  so  Macleod  called  out  at  once,  in  the  lad's  native 
tongue.  But  Donald  could  not  believe  this  thing,  though  he 
had  seen  the  strange  lady  turn  to  Sir  Keith.     And  he  would 


^58  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

have  continued  had  not  one  of  the  men  turned  to  him  and 
said, — 

"  Donald,  do  you  not  hear  ?     Put  down  the  pipes." 

For  an  instant  the  lad  looked  dumbfounded  ;  then  he  slowly 
took  down  the  pipes  from  his  shoulder  and  put  them  beside 
him,  and  then  he  turned  his  face  to  the  bow,  so  that  no  one 
should  see  the  tears  of  wounded  pride  that  had  sprung  to  his 
eyes.  And  Donald  said  no  word  to  any  one  till  they  got 
ashore  ;  and  he  went  away  by  himself  to  Castle  Dare,  with 
his  head  bent  down  and  his  pipes  under  his  arm  ;  and  when 
he  was  met  at  the  door  by  Hamish,  who  angrily  demanded 
why  he  was  not  down  at  the  quay  with  his  pipes,  he  only 
said, — 

"  There  is  no  need  of  me  or  my  pipes  any  more  at  Dare  ; 
and  it  is  somewhere  else  that  I  will  now  go  with  my  pipes." 

But  meanwhile  Macleod  was  greatly  concerned  to  find 
his  sweetheart  so  cold  and  distant ;  and  it  was  all  in  vain  that 
he  pointed  out  to  her  the  beauties  of  this  summer  day — that 
he  showed  her  the  various  islands  he  had  often  talked  about, 
and  called  her  attention  to  the  skarts  sitting  on  the  Erisgeir 
rocks,  and  asked  her — seeing  that  she  sometimes  painted  a 
little  in  water-color — whether  she  noticed  the  peculiar,  clear, 
intense,  and  luminous  blue  of  the  shadows  in  the  great  cliffs" 
which  they  were  approaching.  Surely  no  day  could  have  been 
more  auspicious  for  her  coming  to  Dare  ? 

"  The  sea  did  not  make  you  ill  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Oh  no,"  she  answered ;  and  that  was  true  enough, 
though  it  had  produced  in  her  agonizing  fears  of  becoming 
ill  which  had  somewhat  ruffled  her  temper.  And  besides,  she 
had  a  headache.  And  then  she  had  a  nervous  fear  of  small 
boats. 

"  It  is  a  very  small  boat  to  be  out  in  the  open  sea,"  she 
remarked,  looking  at  the  long  and  shapely  gig  that  was  cleav- 
ing the  summer  waves. 

"  Not  on  a  day  like  this,  surely,"  said  he,  laughing.  "  But 
we  will  make  a  good  sailor  of  you  iDcfore  you  leave  Dare,  and 
you  will  think  yourself  safer  in  a  boat  like  this  than  in  a  big 
steamer.  Do  you  know  that  the  steamer  you  came  in,  big  as 
it  is,  draws  only  five  feet  of  water  ?  " 

If  he  had  told  her  that  the  steamer  drew  five  tons  of  coal 
she  could  just  as  well  have  understood  him.  Indeed,  she  was 
not  paying  much  attention  to  him.  She  had  an  eye  for  the 
biggest  of  the  waves  that  were  running  by  the  side  of  the 
white  boat. 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


259 


But  she  plucked  up  her  spirits  somewhat  on  getting 
ashore  ;  and  she  made  the  prettiest  of  little  courtesies  to  Lady 
Ma^leod ;  and  she  shook  hands  with  Major  Stuart,  and  gave 
him  a  charming  smile  ;  and  she  shook  hands  with  Janet,  too, 
whom  she  regarded  with  a  quick  scrutiny.  So  this  was  the 
cousin- that  Keith  Macleod  was  continually  praising? 

"  Miss  White  has  a  headache,  mother,"  Macleod  said, 
eager  to  account  beforehand  for  any  possible  constraint  in  her 
manner.     "  Shall  we  send  for  the  pony  t  " 

"  Oh  no,"  Miss  White  said,  looking  up  at  the  bare  walls 
of  Dare.  "  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  a  short  walk  now — ■ 
unless  you,  papa,  would  like  to  ride  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not — certainly  not,"  said  Mr.  White,  who  had 
been  making  a  series  of  formal  remarks  to  Lady  Macleod 
about  his  impressions  of  the  scenery  of  Scotland. 

"  We  will  get  you  a  cup  of  tea,"  said  Janet  Macleod, 
gently,  to  the  new-comer,  "  and  you  will  lie  down  for  a  little 
time,  and  I  hope  the  sound  of  the  waterfall  will  not  disturb 
you.  It  is  a  long  way  you  have  come  :  and  you  will  be  very- 
tired,  I  am  sure." 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  pretty  long  way,"  she  said  ;  but  she  wished 
this  over-friendly  woman  would  not  treat  her  as  if  she  were  a 
spoiled  child.  And  no  doubt  they  thought,  because  she  was 
English,  she  could  not  walk  up  to  the  farther  end  of  that  fir- 
wood? 

So  they  all  set  out  for  Castle  Dare  ;  and  Macleod  was 
now  walking — as  many  a  time  he  had  dreamed  of  his  walking — • 
with  his  beautiful  sweetheart ;  and  there  were  the  very  ferns 
that  he  thought  she  would  admire  ;  and  here  the  very  point 
in  the  firwood  where  he  would  stop  her  and  ask  her  to  look 
out  on  the  blue  sea,  with  Inch  Kenneth,  and  Ulva,  and  Staffa, 
all  lying  in  the  sunlight,  and  the  razor-fish  of  land — Coll  and 
Tiree — at  the  horizon.  But  instead  of  being  proud  and  glad, 
he  was  almost  afraid.  He  was  so  anxious  that  everything 
should  please  her  that  he  dared  scarce  bid  her  look  at  any- 
thing. He  had  himself  superintended  the  mending  of  the 
steep  path ;  but  even  now  the  recent  rains  had  left  some  pud- 
dles. Would  she  not  consider  the  moist,  warm  odors  of  this 
larch-wood  as  too  oppressive  ? 

"  What  is  that  ? "  she  said,  suddenly. 

There  was  a  sound  far  below  them  of  the  striking  of  oars 
in  the  water,  and  another  sound  of  one  or  two  men  monoi  >• 
nously  chanting  a  rude  sort  of  chorus. 

"  They  are  taking  the  gig  on  to  the  yacht,"  he  said. 


26o  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"  But  what  ari  they  singing  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  is  Fhir  a  bhata,'"  said  he  ;  "  it  is  the  common 
boat-song.  It  means,  Good-by  to  you^  boatman^  a  hundrea 
times ^  wherever  y oil  may  be  goings 

"  It  is  very  striking,  very  efective,  to  hear  sin2:ing  and 
not  see  the  people,"  she  said.  **  It  is  the  very  prettiest  intro 
duction  to  a  scene  ;  I  wonder  it  is  not  oftener  used.  Do  you 
think  they  could  write  me  down  the  words  and  music  of  that 
song  ? " 

"  Oh  no,  I  think  not,"  said  he,  with  a  nervous  laugh.  "  But 
you  will  find  something  like  it,  no  doubt,  in  your  book." 

So  they  passed  on  through  the  plantation  ;  and  at  last 
they  came  to  an  open  glade  ;  and  here  was  a  deep  chasm 
spanned  by  a  curious  old  bridge  of  stone  almost  hidden  by 
ivy ;  and  there  was  a  brawling  stream  dashing  down  over 
the  rocks  and  flinging  spray  all  over  the  briers,  and  queen  of 
the  meadow,  and  foxgloves  on  either  bank. 

"  That  is  very  pretty,"  said  she  ;  and  then  he  was  eager 
to  tell  her  that  this  little  glen  was  even  more  beautiful  when 
the  rowan-trees  showed  their  rich  clusters  of  scarlet  berries. 

"  Those  bushes  there,  you  mean,"  said  she.  "  The  moun 
tain-ash  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  I  never  see  those  scarlet  berries  with 
out  wishing  I  was  a  dark  woman.  If  my  hair  were  black,  1 
would  wear  nothing  else  in  it." 

By  this  time  they  had  climbed  well  up  the  cliff ;  and  pres- 
ently they  came  on  the  open  plateau  on  which  stood  Castle 
Dare,  with  its  gaunt  walls  and  its  rambling  courtyards,  and 
its  stretch  of  damp  lawn  with  a  few  fuchsia-bushes  and 
orange-lilies,  that  did  not  give  a  very  ornamental  look  to 
the  place, 

"  We  have  had  heavy  rains  of  late,"  he  said,  hastily ;  he 
hoped  the  house  and  its  surroundings  did  not  look  too  dismal. 

And  when  they  went  inside  and  passed  through  the  som- 
bre dining-hall,  with  its  huge  fireplace,  and  its  dark  weapons, 
and  its  few  portraits  dimly  visible  in  the  dusk,  he  said, — 

"  It  is  very  gloomy  in  the  daytime  ;  but  it  is  more  cheer- 
ful at  night." 

And  when  they  reached  the  small  drawing- zoom  he  was 
anxious  to  draw  her  attention  away  from  the  antiquated 
furniture  and  the  nondescript  decoration  by  taking  her  to 
the  window  and  showing  her  the  great  breadth  of  the  sum- 
mer sea,  with  the  far  islands,  and  the   brown-sailed  boat  of 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  261 

the  Gometra  men  coming  back  from  Staffa.  But  presently 
in  came  Janet,  and  would  take  the  fair  stranger  away  to  her 
room  ;  and  was  as  attentive  to  her  as  if  the  one  were  a  great 
princess,  and  the  other  a  meek  servdng-woman.  And  by  and 
by  Macleod,  having  seen  his  other  guest  provided  for,  went 
into  the  library  and  shut  himself  in,  and  sat  down,  in  a  sort 
of  stupor.  He  could  almost  have  imagined  that  the  whole 
business  of  the  morning  was  a  dream  ;  so  strange  did  it 
seem  to  him  that  Gertrude  White  should  be  living  and 
breathing  under  the  same  roof  with  himself. 

Nature  henelf  seemed  to  have  conspired  with  Macleod 
to  welcome  and  charm  this  fair  guest.  He  had  often  spoken 
to  her  of  the  sunsets  that  shcne  over  the  Western  seas  ;  and 
he  had  wondered  whether,  during  her  stay  in  the  North,  she 
would  see  some  strange  sight  that  would  remain  forever  a 
blaze  of  color  in  her  memory.  And  now  on  this  very  first 
evening  there  was  a  spectacle  seen  from  the  high  windows  of 
Dare  that  filled  her  with  astonishment,  and  caused  her  to 
send  quickly  for  her  father,  who  was  burrowing  among  the 
old  armor.  The  sun  had  just  gone  down.  The  western 
sky  was  of  the  color  of  a  soda-water  bottle  become  glorified ; 
and  in  this  vast  breadth  of  shining  clear  green  lay  one  long 
island  of  cloud — a  pure  scarlet.  Then  the  sky  overhead 
and  the  sea  far  below  them  were  both  of  a  soft  roseate  pur- 
ple ;  and  Fladda  and  Staffa  and  Lunga,  out  at  the  horizon, 
Were  almost  black  against  that  flood  of  green  light.  When 
he  asked  her  if  she  had  brought  her  water-colors  with  her, 
smiled.  She  was  not  likely  to  attempt  to  put  anything  like 
that  down  on  paper. 

Then  they  adjourned  to  the  big  hall,  which  was  now  lit 
up  with  candles ;  and  Major  Stuart  had  remained  to  dinner  : 
and  the  gallant  soldier,  glad  to  have  a  merry  evening  away 
from  his  sighing  wife,  didSiis  best  to  promote  the  cheerful- 
ness of  the  party.  Moreover,  Miss  White  had  got  rid  of  her 
headache,  and  showed  a  greater  brightness  of  face  ;  so  that 
both  the  old  lady  at  the  head  of  the  table  and  her  niece 
Janet  had  to  confess  to  themselves  that  this  English  girl  who 
was  like  to  tear  Keith  Macleod  away  from  them  was  very 
pretty,  and  had  an  amiable  look,  and  was  soft  and  fine  and 
delicate  in  her  manners  and  speech.  The  charming  simpli- 
city of  her  costume,  too  :  had  anybody  ever  seen  a  dress 
more  beautiful  with  less  pretence  of  attracting  notice  ?  Her 
very  hands — they  seemed  objects  fitted  to  be  placed  on  a 
cushion  of  blue  velvet  under  a  glass  shade,  so  white   and 


262  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

small  and  perfectly  formed  were  they.  That  was  what  the 
kindly-hearted  Janet  thought.  She  did  not  ask  herself  how 
these  hands  would  answer  if  called  upon  to  help — amidst 
the  grime  and  smoke  of  a  shepherd's  hut — the  shepherd's 
wife  to  patch  together  a  pair  of  homespun  trousers  for  the 
sailor  son  coming  back  from  the  sea. 

""  And  now,"  said  Keith  Macleod  to  his  fair  neighbor, 
when  Hamish  had  put  the  claret  and  the  whiskey  on  the 
table,  "  since  your  head  is  well  now,  would  you  like  to  hear 
the  pipes  ?  It  is  an  old  custom  of  the  house.  My  mother 
would  think  it  strange  to  have  it  omitted,"  he  added,  in  a 
lower  voice. 

"  Oh,  if  it  is  a  custom  of  the  house,"  she  said,  coldly — 
for  she  thought  it  was  inconsiderate  of  him  to  risk  bringing 
back  her  headache — *'  I  have  no  objection  whatever." 

And  so  he  turned  to  Hamish  and  said  something  in  the 
Gaelic.  Hamish  replied  in  English,  and  loud  enough  for 
Miss  White  to  hear. 

"  It  is  no  pibroch  there  will  be  this  night,  for  Donald  is 
away." 

"  Away  .? " 

"  Ay,  just  that.  When  he  wass  come  back  from  the  boat, 
he  will  say  to  me,  *  Hamish,  it  is  no  more  of  me  or  my  pipes 
they  want  at  Dare,  and  I  am  going  away ;  and  they  can  get 
some  one  else  to  play  the  pipes.'  And  I  wass  saying  to  him 
then,  *  Donald,  do  not  be  a  foolish  lad  ;  and  if  the  English 
lady  will  not  want  the  pibroch  you  made  for  her,  perhaps  at 
another  time  she  will  want  it.'  And  now.  Sir  Keith,  it  is 
Maggie  MacFarlane  ;  she  wass  coming  up  from  Loch-na-Keal 
this  afternoon,  and  who  was  it  she  will  meet  but  our  Donald, 
aud  he  wass  saying  to  her,  *  It  is  to  Tobermory  now  that  I 
am  going,  .Maggie  ;  and  I  will  try  to  get  a  ship  there  ;  for  it 
is  no  more  of  me  or  my  pipes  they  will  want  at  Dare.'  " 

This  was  Hamish's  story  ;  and  the  keen  hawk-like  eye  of 
him  was  fixed  on  the  English  lady's  face  all  the  time  he 
spoke  in  his  struggling  and  halting  fashion. 

''  Confound  the  young  rascal ! "  Macleod  said,  with  his 
face  grown  red.  "  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  send  a  messen- 
ger to  Tobermory  and  apologize  to  him  for  interrupting  him 
to-day."  And  then  he  turned  to  Miss  White.  "They  are 
like  a  set  of  children,"  he  said,  *'  with  their  pride  and  petu- 
lance." 

This  is  all  that  needs  be  said  about  the  manner  of  Miss 
While's  comins:  to  Dare,  besides  these  two  circumstances  \ 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  263 

First  of  all,  whether  it  was  that  Macleod  was  too  flurried,  and 
Janet  too  busy,  and  Lady  Macleod  too  indifferent  to  attend 
to  such  trifles,  the  fact  remains  that  no  one,  on  Miss  White's 
entering  the  house,  had  thought  of  presenting  her  with  a 
piece  of  white  heather,  which,  as  every  one  knows,  gives 
good  health  and  good  fortune  and  a  long  life  to  your  friend. 
Again,  Hamish  seemed  to  have  acquired  a  serious  prejudice 
against  her  from  the  very  outset.  That  night,  when  Castle 
Dare  was  asleep,  and  the  old  dame  Christina  and  her  hus- 
band were  seated  by  themselves  in  the  servants'  room,  and 
Hamish  was  having  his  last  pipe,  and  both  were  talking  over 
the  great  events  of  the  day,  Christina  said,  in  her  native 
tongue, 

"  And  what  do  you  think  now  of  the  English  lady,  Ham- 
ish ?"     ^ 

Hamish  answered  with  an  old  and  sinister  saying : 
^^  A  fool  would  he  be  that  would  burn   his  harp  to    warm 
her:' 


CHAPTER  XXXni. 

THE  GRAVE  OF  MACLEOD  OF  MACLEOD. 

The  monotonous  sound  of  the  waterfall,  so  far  from  dis- 
turbing the  new  guest  of  Castle  Dare,  only  soothed  her  to 
rest ;  and  after  the  various  fatigues,  if  not  the  emotions,  of 
the  day,  she  slept  well.  But  in  the  very  midst  of  the  night 
she  was  startled  by  some  loud  commotion  that  seemed  to 
prevail  both  within  and  without  the  house  ;  and  when  she 
was  fully  awakened  it  appeared  to  her  that  the  whole  earth 
was  being  shaken  to  pieces  in  the  storm.  The  wind  howled 
in  the  chimneys  ;  the  rain  dashed  on  the  window-panes  with 
a  rattle  as  of  musketry  ;  far  below  she  could  hear  the  awful 
booming  of  the  Atlantic  breakers.  The  gusts  that  drove 
against  the  high  house  seemed  ready  to  tear  it  from  its  foot- 
hold of  rock  and  whirl  it  inland ;  or  was  it  the  sea  itself  tliat 
was  rising  in  its  thunderous  power  to  sweep  away  this  bauble 
from  the  face  of  the  mighty  cliffs  ?  And  then  the  wild  and 
desolate  morning  that  followed  !  Through  the  bewilder- 
ment of  the  funning  water  on  the  panes  she  looked  abroad 


264  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

on  the  tempest-riven  sea — a  slate-colored  waste  of  hurrying 
waves  with  wind-swept  streaks  of  foam  on  them — and  on 
the  lowering  and  ever-changing  clouds.  The  fuchsia-bushes 
on  the  lawn  tossed  and  bent  before  the  wind ;  the  few 
orange-lilies,  wet  as  they  were,  burned  like  fire  in  this  world 
of  cold  greens  and  grays.  And  then,  as  she  stood  and  gazed, 
she  made  out  the  only  sign  of  life  that  was  visible.  There  was 
a  cornfield  below  the  larch-plantation  ;  and  though  the  corn 
was  all  laid  flat  by  the  wet  and  the  wind,  a  cow  and  her  calt 
that  had  strayed  into  the  field  seemed  to  Rave  no  difficulty  in 
finding  a  rich,  moist  breakfast.  Then  a  small  girl  appeared, 
vainly  trying  with  one  hand  to  keep  her  kerchief  on  her  head, 
while  with  the  other  she  threw  stones  at  the  marauders.  By 
and  by  even  these  disappeared  ;  and  there  was  nothing  visible 
outside  but  that  hurrying  and  desolate  sea,  and  the  wet,  be- 
draggled, comfortless  shore.  She  turned  away  with  a  shud- 
der. 

All  that  day  Keith  Macleod  was  in  despair.  As  for  him- 
self, he  would  have  had  sufficient  joy  in  the  mere  conscious- 
ness of  the  presence  of  this  beautiful  creature.  His  eyes 
followed  her  with  a  constant  delight ;  whether  she  took  up  a 
book,  or  examined  the  cunning  spring  of  a  sixteenth-century 
dagger,  or  turned  to  the  dripping  panes.  He  would  have 
been  content  even  to  sit  and  listen  to  Mr.  White  sententiously 
lecturing  Lady  Macleod  about  the  Renaissance,  knowing  that 
from  time  to  time  those  beautiful,  tender  eyes  would  meet 
his.  But  what  would  she  think  of  it  .''  Would  she  consider 
this  the  normal  condition  of  life  in  the  Highlands — this  being 
boxed  up  in  an  old-fashioned  room,  with  doors  and  windows 
firmly  closed  against  the  wind  and  the  wet,  with  a  number  of 
people  trying  to  keep  up  some  sort  of  social  intercourse,  and 
not  very  well  succeeding  ?  She  had  looked  at  the  portraits 
in  the  dining-hall — looming  darkly  from  their  black  back- 
grounds, though  two  or  three  were  in  resplendent  uniforms ; 
she  had  examined  all  the  trophies  of  the  chase — skins,  horns, 
and  what  not — in  the  outer  corridor ;  she  had  opened  the 
piano,  and  almost  started  back  from  the  discords  produced 
by  the  feebly  jangling  old  keys. 

"  You  do  not  cultivate  music  much,"  she  had  said  to  Janet 
Macleod,  with  a  smile. 

"No,"  answered  Janet,  seriously.  "We  have  little  use 
for  music  here — except  to  sing  to  a  child  now  and  again,  and 
you  know  you  do  not  want  a  piano  for  that." 

And  then  the  return  to  the  cold  window,  with  the  constant 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  265 

rain  and  the  beating  of  the  white  surge  on  the  black 
rocks.  The  imprisonment  became  torture — became  mad- 
dening. What  if  he  were  suddenly  to  murder  this  old  man 
and  stop  forever  his  insufferable  prosing  about  Bernada 
Siena  and  Andrea  Mantegna  1  It  seemed  so  strange  to 
hear  him  talk  of  the  unearthly  calm  of  Raphael's  "  St. 
Michael  " — of  the  beautiful,  still  landscape  of  it,  ar  i  the 
mysterious  joy  on  the  face  of  the  angel — and  to  listen  at  the 
same  moment  to  the  wild  roar  of  the  Atlantic  around  the 
rocks  of  Mull.  If  Macleod  had  been  alone  with  the  talker, 
he  might  have  gone  to  sleep.  It  was  like  the  tolling  of  a  bell. 
"  The  artist  passes  away,  but  he  leaves  his  soul  behind.  .  .  . 
We  can  judge  by  his  work  of  the  joy  he  must  have  expe- 
rienced in  creation,  of  the  splendid  dreams  that  have  visited 
him,  of  the  triumph  of  completion.  .  .  .  Life  without  an  object 
— a  pursuit  demanding  the  sacrifice  of  our  constant  care — 
what  is  it  ?  The  existence  of  a  pig  is  nobler — a  pig  is  of 
some  use.  .  .  .  We  are  independent  of  weather  in  a  great  city ; 
we  do  not  need  to  care  for  the  seasons  ;  3'ou  take  a  hansom 
and  drive  to  the  National  Gallery,  and  there  all  at  once  you 
find  yourself  in  the  soft  Italian  climate,  with  the  most  beau- 
tiful women  and  great  heroes  of  chivalry  all  around  you,  and 
with  those  quaint  and  loving  presentations  of  sacred  stories 
that  tell  of  a  time  when  art  was  proud  to  be  the  meek  hand- 
maid of  religion.  Oh,  my  dear  Lady  Macleod,  there  is  a 
*  Holy  Family  '  of  Giotto's " 

So  it  went  on  ;  and  Macleod  grew  sick  at  heart  to  think 
of  the  impression  that  this  funereal  day  must  have  had  on  the 
mind  of  his  fair  stranger.  But  as  they  sat  at  dinner  that  even- 
ing, Hamish  came  in  and  said  a  few  words  to  his  master. 
Instantly  Macleod's  face  lighted  up,  and  quite  a  new  anima- 
tion came  into  his  manner. 

"  Do  you  know  what  Hamish  says  ?  "  he  cried —  "  that 
the  night  is  quite  fine  ?  And  Hamish  has  heard  our  talking 
of  seeing  the  cathedral  at  lona  by  moonlight,  and  he  says  the 
moon  will  be  up  by  ten.  And  what  do  you  say  to  running 
over  now  ?  You  know  we  cannot  take  you  in  the  yacht,  for 
there  is  no  good  anchorage  at  lona ;  but  we  can  take  you  in 
a  very  good  and  safe  boat ;  and  it  will  be  an  adventure  to  go 
out  in  the  night-time." 

It  was  an  adventure  that  neither  Mr.  White  nor  his 
daughter  seemed  too  eager  to  undertake  ;  but  the  urgent  ve- 
hemence of  the  young  man — who  had  discovered  that  it  was 
a  fine  and  clear  starlit  ni'rht — soon   overcame  their  doubts 


266  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

and  there  was  a  general  hurry  of  preparation.  The  desola 
tion  of  the  day,  he  eagerly  thought,  would  be  forgotten  in  the 
romance  of  this  night  excursion.  And  surely  she  would  be 
charmed  by  the  beauty  of  the  starlit  sky,  and  the  loneliness 
of  the  voyage,  and  their  wandering  over  the  ruins  in  the 
solemn  moonlight  ? 

Thick  boots  and  waterproofs — these  were  his  peremptoiy 
instructions.  And  then  he  led  the  way  down  the  slippery 
path,  and  he  had  a  tight  hold  of  her  arm  ;  and  if  he  talked 
to  her  in  a  low  voice  so  that  none  should  overhear,  it  is  the 
way  of  lovers  under  the  silence  of  the  stars.  They  reached 
the  pier,  and  the  wet  stone  steps  ;  and  here,  despite  the  stars, 
it  was  so  dark  that  perforce  she  had  to  permit  him  to  lift  her 
off  the  lowest  step  and  place  her  in  security  in  what  seemed 
to  her  a  great  hole  of  some  kind  or  other.  She  knew,  how- 
ever, that  she  was  in  a  boat,  for  there  was  a  swaying  hither 
and  thither  even  in  this  sheltered  corner.  She  saw  other 
figures  arrive — black  between  her  and  the  sky — and  she 
heard  her  father's  voice  above.  Then  he,  too,  got  into  the 
boat ;  the  two  men  forward  hauled  up  the  huge  lugsail ;  and 
presently  there  was  a  rippling  line  of  sparkling  white  stars 
on  each  side  of  the  boat,  burning  for  a  second  or  two  on  the 
surface  of  the  black  water. 

"  I  don't  know  who  is  responsible  for  this  madness,"  Mr. 
White  said — and  the  voice  from  inside  the  great  waterproof 
coat  sounded  as  if  it  meant  to  be  jocular — "  but  really,  Gerty, 
to  be  on  the  open  Atlantic  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  in  an 
open  boat' — " 

"  My  dear  sir,"  Macleod  said,  laughing,  "  you  are  as  safe 
as  if  you  were  in  bed.  But  I  am  responsible  in  the  mean- 
time, for  I  have  the  tiller.  Oh,  we  shall  be  over  in  plenty  of 
time  to  be  clear  of  the  banks." 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  " 

"Well,"  Macleod  admitted,  "there  are  some  banks,  you 
know,  in  the  Sound  of  lona  ;  and  on  a  dark  night  they  are 
a  little  awkward  when  the  tide  is  low ;  but  I  am  not  going  to 
frighten  you — " 

"  I  hope  we  shall  have  nothing  much  worse  than  this,' 
said  Mr.  White,  seriously. 

For,  indeed,  the  sea,  after  the  squally  morning,  was  run- 
ning pretty  high ;  and  occasionally  a  cloud  of  spray  came 
rattling  over  the  boA^s,  causing  Macleod's  guests  to  pull  their 
waterproofs  still  more  tightly  round  their  necks.  But  what 
mattered  the  creaking  of  the  cordage,  and  the  plunging  oi 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  267 

the  boat,  and  the  rushing  of  the  seas,  so  long  as  that  beauti- 
ful Clear  sky  shone  overhead  ? 

"  Gertrude,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  "  do  you  see  the 
phosphorous-stars  on  the  waves  ?  I  never  saw  them  burn 
more  brightly." 

"  They  are  very  beautiful,"  said  she.  "  When  do  we  get 
to  land,  Keith  ?  " 

"  Oh,  pretty  soon,"  said  he.  "  You  are  not  anxious  to 
get  to  land  ?  " 

"  It  is  stormier  than  I  expected." 

"  Oh,  this  is  nothing,"  said  he.  *'  I  thought  you  would 
enjoy  it." 

However,  that  summer  night's  sail  was  like  to  prove  a 
tougher  business  than  Keith  Macleod  had  bargained  for. 
They  had  been  out  scarcely  twenty  minutes  when  Miss  White 
heard  the  man  at  the  bow  call  out  something,  which  she  could 
not  understand,  to  Macleod.  She  saw  him  crane  his  neck 
forward,  as  if  looking  ahead  ;  and  she  herself,  looking  in 
that  direction,  could  perceive  that  from  the  horizon  almost 
to  the  zenith  the  stars  had  become  invisible. 

"  It  may  be  a  little  bit  squally,"  he  said  to  her,  "  but  we 
shall  soon  be  under  the  lee  of  lona.  Perhaps  you  had  better 
hold  on  to  something." 

The  advice  was  not  ill-timed ;  for  almost  as  he  spoke  the 
first  gust  of  the  squall  struck  the  boat,  and  there  was  a  sound 
as  if  everything  had  been  torn  asunder  and  sent  overboard. 
Then,  as  she  righted  just  in  time  to  meet  the  crash  of  the 
next  wave,  it  seemed  as  though  the  world  had  grown  per- 
fectly black  around  them.  The  terrified  woman  seated  there 
could  no  longer  make  out  Macleod's  figure  ;  it  was  impossible 
to  speak  amidst  this  roar ;  it  almost  seemed  to  her  that  she 
was  alone  with  those  howling  winds  and  heaving  waves — at 
night  on  the  open  sea.  The  wind  rose,  and  the  sea  too  ;  she 
heard  the  men  call  out  and  Macleod  answer ;  and  all  the 
time  the  boat  was  creaking  and  groaning  as  she  was  flung 
high  on  the  mighty  waves  only  to  go  staggering  down  into 
the  awful  troughs  behind. 

"  Oh,  Keith  ! "  she  cried — and  involuntarily  she  seized 
his  arm — "  are  we  in  danger  .?  " 

He  could  not  hear  what  she  said ;  but  he  understood  the 
mute  appeal.  Quickly  disengaging  his  arm — ^for  it  was  the 
arm  that  was  working  the  tiller — he  called  to  her, — 

"  We  are  all  right.  If  you  are  afraid,  get  to  the  bottom 
of  the  boat." 


268  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

But  unhappily  she  did  not  hear  this  ;  for,  as  he  called  her, 
a  heavy  sea  struck  the  bows,  sprung  high  in  the  air,  and  then 
fell  over  them  in  a  deluge  which  nearly  choked  her.  She 
understood,  though,  his  throwing  away  her  hand.  It  was  the 
triumph  of  brute  selfishness  in  the  moment  of  danger.  They 
were  drowning,  and  he  would  not  let  her  come  near  him  !  And 
so  she  shrieked  aloud  for  her  father. 

Hearing  those  shrieks,  Macleod  called  to  one  of  the  two 
men,  who  came  stumbling  along  in  the  dark  and  got  hold  of 
the  tiller.  There  was  a  slight  lull  in  the  storm,  and  he  caught 
her  two  hands  and  held  her. 

"  Gertrude,  what  is  the  matter  ?  You  are  perfectly  safe, 
and  so  is  your  father.  For  Heaven's  sake,  keep  still  !  if  you 
get  up,  you  will  be  knocked  overboard  !  " 

"  Where  is  papa  t  "  she  cried. 

"  I  am  here — I  am  all  right,  Gerty  !  "  was  the  answer — 
which  came  from  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  into  which  Mr. 
White  had  very  prudently  slipped. 

And  then,  as  they  got  under  the  lee  of  the  island,  they 
found  themselves  in  smoother  water,  though  from  time  to 
time  squalls  came  over  and  threatened  to  flatten  the  great 
lugsail  right  on  to  the  waves. 

"  Come  now,  Gertrude,"  said  Macleod,  "  we  shall  be 
ashore  in  a  few  minutes,  and  you  are  not  frightened  of  a 
squall .? " 

H  e  had  his  arm  round  her,  and  he  held  her  tight ;  but  she 
did  not  answer.  At  last  she  saw  a  light — a  small,  glimmer- 
ing orange  thing  that  quivered  apparently  a  hundred  miles 
off. 

"  See !  "  he  said.  "  We  are  close  by.  And  it  may  clear 
up  to-night,  after  all." 

Then  he  shouted  to  one  of  the  men  : 

"  Sandy,  we  will  not  try  the  quay  the  night :  we  will  go 
into  the  Martyr's  Bay." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir ! " 

It  was  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  that — almost  be- 
numbed with  fear — she  discovered  that  the  1  oat  was  in 
smooth  water  ;  and  then  there  was  a  loud  clatter  of  the  sail 
coming  down  ;  and  she  heard  the  two  sailors  calling  to  each 
other,  and  one  of  them  seemed  to  have  got  overboard.  There 
was  absolutely  nothing  visible — not  even  a  distant  light ;  but 
it  was  raining  heavily.  Then  she  knew  that  Macleod  had 
moved  away  from  her  ;  and  she  thought  she  heard  a  splash 
in  the  water ;  and  then  a  voice  beside  her  said. — 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


269 


"  Gertrude,  will  you  not  get  up  ?  You  must  let  me  carry 
you  ashore." 

And  she  found  herself  in  his   arms — carried  as  lightly  as 
though  she  had  been  a  young  lamb  or  a  fawn  from  the  hills  ; 
but  she  knew  from  the   slow  way  of  his  walking  that  he  was 
going  through  the  sea.     Then  he  set  her  on  the  shore. 
"  Take  my  hand,"  said  he. 
"  But  where  is  papa  ?  " 

"  Just  behind  us,"  said  he,  "  on  Sandy's  shoulders.  Sandy 
will  bring  him  along.     Come,  darling  !  " 
"  But  where  are  we  going  ?  " 

"There  is  a  little  inn  near  the  Cathedral.  And  perhaps 
it  will  clear  up  to-night ;  and  we  will  have  a  fine  sail  back 
again  to  Dare." 

She  shuddered.  Not  for  ten  thousand  worlds  would  she 
pass  through  once  more  that  seething  pit  of  howling  sounds 
and  raging  seas. 

He  held  her  arm  firmly  ;  and  she  stumbled  along  through 
the  darkness,  not  knowing  whether  she  was  walking  through 
sea-weed,  or  pools  of  water,  or  wet  corn.  And  at  last  they 
came  to  a  door  ;  and  the  door  was  opened  ;  and  there  was  a 
blaze  of  orange  light ;  and  they  entered — all  dripping  and  un- 
recognizable— the  warm,  snug  little  place, 'to  the  astonishment 
of  a  handsome  young  lady  who  proved  to  be  their  hostess. 

"  Dear  me.  Sir  Keith,"  said  she  at  length,  "  is  it  you  in- 
deed !     And  you  will  not  be  going  back  to  Dare  to-night  ?  " 

In  fact,  when  Mr.  White  arrived,  it  was  soon  made  evi- 
dent that  going  back  to  Dare  that  night  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion ;  for  somehow  the  old  gentleman,  despite  his  waterproofs, 
had  managed  to  get  soaked  through  ;  and  he  was  determined 
to  go  to  bed  at  once,  so  as  to  have  his  clothes  dried.  And 
so  the  hospitalities  of  the  little  inn  were  requisitioned  to  the 
utmost ;  and  as  there  was  no  whiskey  to  be  had,  they  had  to 
content  themselves  with  hot  tea  ;  and  then  they  all  retired  to 
rest  for  the  night,  convinced  that  the  moonlight  visitation  of 
the  ruins  had  to  be  postponed. 

But  next  day — such  are  the  rapid  changes  in  the  High- 
lands— broke  blue  and  fair  and  shining  ;  and  Miss  Gertrude 
White  was  amazed  to  find  that  the  awful  Sound  she  had  come 
along  on  the  previous  night  was  now  brilliant  in  the  most 
beautiful  colors — for  the  tide  was  low,  and  the  yellow  sand- 
banks were  shining  through  the  blue  waters  of  the  sea.  And 
would  she  not,  seeing  that  the  boat  was  lying  down  at  the 
quay  now,  sail  round  the  island,  and  see  the  splendid  sight 


270 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


of  the  Atlantic  breaking  on  the  wild  coast  on  the  western 
side  ?  She  hesitated ;  and  then,  when  it  was  suggested  that 
she  might  walk  across  the  island,  she  eagerly  accepted  that 
alternative.     They  set  out,  on  this  hot,  bright,  beautiful  day. 

But  where  he,  eager  to  please  her  and  show  the  beauties  of 
the  Highlands,  saw  lovely  white  sands,  and  smiling  plains  of 
verdure,  and  far  views  of  the  sunny  sea,  she  only  saw  loneli- 
ness, and  desolation,  and  a  constant  threatening  of  death 
from  the  fierce  Atlantic.  Could  anything  have  been  more 
beautiful,  he  said  to  himself,  than  this  magnificent  scene  that 
lay  all  around  her  when  they  reached  a  far  point  on  the  west- 
ern shore  ? — in  face  of  them  the  wildly  rushing  seas,  coming 
thundering  on  to  the  rocks,  and  springing  so  high  into  the 
air  that  the  snow-white  foam  showed  black  against  the  glare 
of  the  sky  ;  the  nearer  islands  gleaming  with  a  touch  of  brown 
on  their  sunward  side ;  the  Dutchman's  Cap,  with  its  long 
brim  and  conical  centre,  and  Lunga,  also  like  a  cap,  but  with 
a  shorter  brim  and  a  high  peak  in  front,  becoming  a  trifle 
blue  ;  then  Coll  and  Tiree  lying  like  a  pale  stripe  on  the 
horizon  ;  while  far  away  in  the  north  the  mountains  of  Rum 
and  Skye  were  faint  and  spectral  in  the  haze  of  the  sunlight. 
Then  the  wild  coast  around  them  ;  with  its  splendid  masses 
of  granite  ;  and  its  spare  grass  a  brown-green  in  the  warm 
sun ;  and  its  bays  of  silver  sand ;  and  its  sea-birds  whiter 
than  the  white  clouds  that  came  sailing  over  the  blue.  She 
recognized  only  the  awfulness  and  the  loneliness  of  that  wild 
shore  ;  with  its  suggestions  of  crashing  storms  in  the  night- 
time, and  the  cries  of  drowning  men  dashed  helplessly  on 
the  cruel  rocks.  She  was  very  silent  all  the  way  back,  though 
he  told  her  stories  of  the  fairies  that  used  to  inhabit  those 
sandy  and  grassy  plains. 

And  could  anything  have  been  more  magical  than  the 
beauty  of  that  evening,  after  the  storm  had  altogether  died 
away  ?  The  red  sunset  sank  behind  the  dark  olive-green  of 
the  hills  ;  a  pale,  clear  twilight  took  its  place,  and  shone  over 
those  mystic  ruins  that  were  the  object  of  many  a  thought 
and  many  a  pilgrimage  in  the  far  past  and  forgotten  years ; 
and  then  the  stars  began  to  glimmer  as  the  distant  shores 
and  the  sea  grew  dark  ;  and  then,  still  later  on,  a  wonderful 
radiance  rose  behind  the  low  hills  of  Mull,  and  across  the 
wavers  of  the  Sound  came  a  belt  of  quivering  light  as  the 
white  moon  sailed  slowly  up  into  the  sky.  Would  they  ven- 
ture out  now  into  the  silence  ?  There  was  an  odor  of  new- 
mown  hay  in  the  night  air.     Far  away  they  could  hear  the 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


271 


murmuring  of  the  waves  around  the  rocks.  They  did  not 
speak  a  word  as  they  walked  along  to  those  solemn  ruins 
overlooking  the  sea,  that  were  now  a  mass  of  mysterious 
shadow,  except  where  the  eastern  walls  and  the  tower  were 
touched  by  the  silvery  light  that  had  just  come  into  the 
heavens. 

And  in  silence  they  entered  the  still  churchyard,  too,  and 
passed  the  graves.  The  buildings  seemed  to  rise  above  them 
in  a  darkened  majesty  ;  before  them  was  a  portal  through 
which  a  glimpse  of  the  moonlight  sky  was  visible.  Would 
they  enter  then  ? 

"  I  am  almost  afraid,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  to  her 
companion,  and  the  hand  on  his  arm  trembled. 

But  no  sooner  had  she  spoken  than  there  was  a  sudden 
sound  in  the  night  that  caused  her  heart  to  jump.  All  over 
them  and  around  them,  as  it  seemed,  there  was  a  wild  uproar 
of  wings ;  and  the  clear  sky  above  them  was  darkened  by  a 
cloud  of  objects  wheeling  this  way  and  that,  until  at  length 
they  swept  by  overhead  as  if  blown  by  a  whirlwind,  and 
crossed  the  clear  moonlight  in  a  dense  body.  She  had 
quickly  clung  to  him  in  her  fear. 

"  It  is  only  the  jackdaws — there  are  hundreds  of  them," 
he  said  to  her ;  but  even  his  voice  sounded  strange  in  this 
hollow  building. 

For  they  had  now  entered  by  the  open  doorway ;  and  all 
around  them  were  the  tall  and  crumbling  pillars,  and  the 
arched  windows,  and  ruined  walls,  here  and  there  catching 
the  sharp  light  of  the  moonlight,  here  and  there  .showing 
soft  and  gray  with  a  reflected  light,  with  spaces  of  black 
shadow  which  led  to  unknown  recesses.  And  always  over- 
head the  clear  sky  with  its  pale  stars ;  and  always,  far  away, 
the  melancholy  sound  of  the  sea. 

"  Do  you  know  where  you  are  standing  now  ?  "  said  he, 
almost  sadly.  "  You  are  standing  on  the  grave  of  Macleod 
of  Macleod." 

She  started  aside  with  a  slight  exclamation. 

"  I  do  not  think  they  bury  any  one  in  here  now,"  said  he, 
gently.  And  then  he  added,  "  Do  you  know  that  I  have 
chosen  the  place  for  my  grave  1  It  is  away  out  at  one  of  the 
Treshnish  islands  ;  it  is  a  bay  looking  to  the  west ;  there  is 
no  one  living  on  that  island.  It  is  only  a  fancy  of  mine — to 
rest  for  ever  and  ever  with  no  sound  around  you  but  the  sea 
and  the  winds — no  step  coming  near  you,  and  no  voice  but 
the  waves." 


272  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"  Oh  Keith,  you  should  not  say  such  things  :  you  frighten 
me  !  "  she  said,  in  a  trembling  voice. 

Another  voice  broke  in  upon  them,  harsh  and  pragmat 
ical. 

"  Do  you  know.  Sir  Keith,'*  said  Mr.  White,  briskly,  "  that 
the  moonlight  is  clear  enough  to  let  you  make  out  this  plan  ? 
But  I  can't  get  the  building  to  correspond.  This  is  the  chan- 
cel, I  believe  ;  but  where  are  the  cloisters  ?  " 

"  I  will  show  you,"  Macleod  said  ;  and  he  led  his  com- 
panion through  the  silent  and  solemn  place,  her  father  follow- 
ing. In  the  darkness  they  passed  through  an  archway,  and 
were  about  to  step  out  on  to  a  piece  of  grass,  when  suddenly 
Miss  White  uttered  a  wild  scream  of  terror  and  sank  help- 
lessly to  the  ground.  She  had  slipped  from  his  arm,  but  in 
an  instant  he  had  caught  her  again  and  had  raised  her  on  his 
bended  knee,  and  was  calling  to  her  with  kindly  words. 

"  Gertrude,  Gertrude  !  "  he  said.  *'  What  is  the  matter  ? 
Won't  you  speak  to  me  ?  " 

And  just  as  she  was  pulling  herself  together  the  innocent 
cause  of  this  commotion  was  discovered.  It  was  a  black 
lamb  that  had  come  up  in  the  most  friendly  manner  and  had 
rubbed  its  head  against  her  hand  to  attract  her  notice. 

"  Gertrude,  see  !  it  is  only  a  lamb  !  It  comes  up  to  me 
every  time  I  visit  the  ruins  ;  look !  " 

And,  indeed,  she  was  mightily  ashamed  of  herself ;  and 
pretended  to  be  vastly  interested  in  the  ruins  ;  and  was  quite 
charmed  with  the  view  of  the  Sound  in  the  moonlight,  with 
the  low  hills  beyond,  now  grown  quite  black  ;  but  all  the  same 
she  was  very  silent  as  they  walked  back  to  the  inn.  And  she 
was  pale  and  thoughtful,  too,  while  they  were  having  their 
frugal  supper  of  bread  and  milk ;  and  very  soon,  pleading 
fatigue,  she  retired.  But  all  the  same,  when  Mr.  White  went 
upstairs,  some  time  after,  he  had  been  but  a  short  while  in 
his  room  when  he  heard  a  tapping  at  the  door.  He  said 
"  Come  in,"  and  his  daughter  entered.  He  was  surprised  by 
the  curious  look  of  her  face — a  sort  of  piteous  look,  as  of  one 
il]  at  ease,  and  yet  ashamed  to  speak. 

"  What  is  it,  child  ?  "  said  he. 

She  regarded  him  for  a  second  with  that  piteous  look  ; 
and  then  tears  slowly  gathered  in  her  eyes. 

"  Papa,"  said  she,  in  a  sort  of  half-hysterical  way,  "  I  want 
you  to  take  me  away  from  here.  It  frightens  me.  I  don't 
know  what  it  is.     He  was  talking  to  me  about  graves " 

And  here  she  burst  out  crying,  and  sobbed  bitterly. 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  273 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  child  !  "  her  father  said  ;  "  your  nervous 
system  must  have  been  shaken  last  night  by  that  storm.  1 
have  seen  a  strange  look  upon  your  face  all  day.  It  was 
certainly  a  mistake  our  coming  here ;  you  are  not  fitted  for 
this  savage  life." 

She  grew  more  composed.  She  sat  down  for  a  few  min- 
utes ;  and  her  father,  taking  out  a  small  flask  which  had  been 
filled  from  a  bottle  of  brandy  sent  over  during  the  day  from 
Castle  Dare,  poured  out  a  little  of  the  spirits,  added  some 
water,  and  made  her  drink  the  dose  as  a  sleeping  draught." 

"  Ah  well,  you  know,  pappy,"  said  she,  as  she  rose  to  leave, 
and  she  bestowed  a  very  pretty  smile  on  him,  "  it  is  all  in  the 
way  of  experience,  isn't  it  ?  and  an  artist  should  experience 
everything.  But  there  is  just  a  little  too  much  about  graves 
and  ghosts  in  these  parts  for  me.  And  I  suppose  we  shall 
go  to-morrow  to  see  some  cave  or  other  where  two  or  three 
hundred  men,  women,  and  children  were  murdered." 

"  I  hope  in  going  back  we  shall  not  be  as  near  our  own 
grave  as  we  were  last  night,"  her  father  observed. 

"  And  Keith  Macleod  laughs  at  it,"  she  said,  "  and  says 
it  was  unfortunate  we  got  a  wetting  !  " 

And  so  she  went  to  bed ;  and  the  sea-air  had  dealt  well 
with  her ;  and  she  had  no  dreams  at  all  of  shipwrecks,  or  of 
black  familiars  in  moonlit  shrines.  Why  should  her  sleep  be 
disturbed  because  that  night  she  had  put  her  foot  on  the  grave 
of  the  chief  of  the  Macleods  ? 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE   UMPIRE. 


Next  morning,  with  all  this  wonderful  world  of  sea  and 
islands  shining  in  the  early  sunlight,  Mr.  White  and  his 
daughter  were  down  by  the  shore,  walking  along  the  white 
sands,  and  chatting  idly  as  they  went.  From  time  to  time 
they  looked  across  the  fair  summer  seas  to  the  distant  cliffs 
of  Bourg  ;  and  each  time  they  looked  a  certain  small  white 
speck  seemed  coming  nearer.  That  was  the  Umpire ;  and 
Keith  Macleod  was  on  board  of  her.  He  had  started  at  an 
unknown  hour  of  the  night  to  bring  the  yacht  over  from  her 


274 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


anchorage.  He  would  not  have  his  beautiful  Fionaghal,  who 
had  come  as  a  stranger  to  these  far  lands,  go  back  to  Dare 
in  a  common  open  boat  with  stones  for  ballast. 

"  This  is  the  loneliest  place  I  have  ever  seen,"  Miss  Ger- 
trude White  was  saying  on  this  the  third  morning  after  her 
arrival.  "  It  seems  scarcely  in  the  world  at  all.  The  sea 
cuts  you  off  from  everything  you  know  ;  it  would  have  been 
nothing  if  we  had  come  by  rail." 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  the  blue  waves  beside  them  J 
curling  a  crisp  white  on  the  smooth  sands. 

"  Pappy,"  said  she,  at  length,  "  I  suppose  if  I  lived  heie 
for  six  months  no  one  in  England  would  know  anything  about 
me  ?  If  I  were  mentioned  at  all,  they  would  think  I  was 
dead.  Perhaps  some  day  I  might  meet  some  one  from  Eng- 
land ;  and  I  would  have  to  say,  *  Don't  you  know  who  I  am  ? 
Did  you  never  hear  of  one  called  Gertrude  White  1  I  was 
Gertrude  White.'  " 

"  No  doubt,"  said  her  father,  cautiously. 
"  And  when  Mr.  Lemuel's  portrait  of  me  appears  in  the 
Academy,  people  would  be  saying,  '  Who  is  that  t '  Miss 
Gertrude  l^hite,  as  Juliet  ?  Ah,  there  was  an  actress  of  that 
name.  Or  was  she  an  amateur  ?  She  married  somebody  in 
the  Highlands.     I  suppose  she  is  dead  now }  " 

"  It  is  one  of  the  most  gratifying  instances,  Gerty,  of  the 
position  you  have  made,"  her  father  observed,  in  his  slow 
and  sententious  way,  "  that  Mr.  Lemuel  should  be  so  willing, 
after  having  refused  to  exhibit  at  the  Academy  for  so  many 
years,  to  make  an  exception  in  the  case  of  your  portrait." 

"  Well,  I  hope  my  face  will  not  get  burned  by  the  sea-air 
and  the  sun,"  she  said.  "  You  know  he  wants  two  or  three 
more  sittings.  And  do  you  know,  pappy,  I  have  sometimes 
thought  of  asking  you  to  tell  me  honestly — not  to  encourage 
me  with  flattery,  you  know — whether  my  face  has  really  that 
high-strung  pitch  of  expression  when  I  am  about  to  drink  the 
poison  in  the  cell.  Do  I  really  look  like  Mr.  Lemuel's  por- 
trait of  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  your  very  self,  Gerty,"  her  father  said,  with  de- 
cision. "  But  then  Mr.  Lemuel  is  a  man  of  genius.  Who  but 
himself  could  have  caught  the  very  soul  of  your  acting  and 
fixed  it  on  canvas  ?  " 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  there  was  a  flush  of 
genuine  enthusiastic  pride  mantling  on  her  forehead  as  she 
said,  frankly, — 

"  Well,  then,  1  wish  I  could  see  myself  !  " 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  275 

Mr.  White  said  nothing.  He  had  watched  this  daughter 
or  his  through  the  long  winter  months.  Occasionally,  when 
he  heard  her  utter  sentiments  such  as  these — and  when  he 
saw  her  keenly  sensitive  to  the  flattery  bestowed  upon  her 
by  the  people  assembled  at  Mr.  Lemuel's  little  gatherings,  he 
had  asked  himself  whether  it  was  possible  she  could  ever 
marry  Sir  Keith  Macleod.  But  he  was  too  wise  to  risk  re- 
awakening her  rebellious  fits  by  any  encouragement.  In  any 
case,  he  had  some  experience  of  this  young  lady  ;  and  what 
was  the  use  of  combatting  one  of  her  moods  at  five  o'clock, 
when  at  six  o'clock  she  would  be  arguing  in  the  contrary  di 
rection,  and  at  seven  convinced  that  the  viv  media  was  the 
straight  road  t  Moreover,  if  the  worst  came  to  the  worst, 
there  would  be  some  compensation  in  the  fact  of  Miss  White 
changing  her  name  for  that  of  Lady  Macleod. 

Just  as  quickly  she  changed  her  mood  on  the  present  oc- 
casion. She  was  looking  again  far  over  the  darkly  blue  and 
ruffled  seas  toward  the  white-sailed  yacht. 

"  He  must  have  gone  away  in  the  dark  to  get  that  boat 
for  us,"  said  she,  musingly.  "  Poor  fellow,  how  very  generous 
and  kind  he  is !  Sometimes — shall  I  make  the  confession, 
pappy  ? — I  wish  he  had  picked  out  some  one  who  could  better 
have  returned  his  warmth  of  feeling." 

She  called  it  a  confession ;  but  it  was  a  question.  And 
her  father  answered  more  bluntly  than  she  had  quite  expected. 

"  I  am  not  much  of  an  authority  on  such  points,"  said  he, 
with  a  dry  smile  ;  "  but  I  should  have  said,  Gerty,  that  you 
have  not  been  quite  so  eifusive  towards  Sir  Keith  Macleod 
as  some  young  ladies  would  have  been  on  meeting  their 
sweetheart  after  a  long  absence." 

The  pale  face  flushed,  and  she  answered,  hastily, 

"  But  you  know,  papa,  when  you  are  knocked  about  from 
one  boat  to  another,  and  expecting  to  be  ill  one  minute  and 
drowned  the  next,  you  don't  have  your  temper  improved,  do 
you  ?  And  then  perhaps  you  have  been  expecting  a  little  too 
much  romance  ? — and  you  find  your  Highland  chieftain  hand- 
ing down  loaves,  with  all  the  people  in  the  steamer  staring 
at  him.  But  I  really  mean  to  make  i:  up  to  him,  papa,  if  I 
could  only  get  settled  down  for  a  day  or  two  and  get  into 
my  own  ways.  Oh  dear '  me  ! — this  sun — it  is  too  awfully 
dreadful  !  When  I  appear  before  Mr.  Lemuel  again,  I  shall 
be  a  mulatto  !  " 

And  as  they  walked  along  the  burning  sands,  with  the 
waves  monotonously  breaking,   the  white-sailed  yacht  came 


276  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

nearer  and  more  near ;  and,  indeed,  the  old  Umpire^  broad- 
beamed  and  heavy  as  she  was,  looked  quite  stately  and  swan- 
like as  she  came  over  the  blue  water.  And  they  saw  the  gig 
lowered  ;  and  the  four  oars  keeping  rhythmical  time  ;  and 
presently  they  could  make  out  the  browned  and  glad  face  of 
Macleod. 

"  Why  did  you  take  so  much  trouble  ?  "  said  she  to  him — 
and  she  took  his  hand  in  a  very  kind  way  as  he  stepped  on 
shore.     "We  could  very  well  have  gone  back  in  the  boat." 

"  Oh,  but  I  want  to  take  you  round  by  Loch  Tua,"  said 
he,  looking  with  great  gratitude  into  those  friendly  eyes. 
"  And  it  was  no  trouble  at  all.  And  will  you  step  into  the 
gig  now  ?  " 

He  took  her  hand  and  guided  her  along  the  rocks  until 
she  reached  the  boat ;  and  he  assisted  her  father  too.  Then 
they  pushed  off,  and  it  was  with  a  good  swing  the  men  sent 
the  boat  through  the  lapping  waves.  And  here  was  Hamish 
standing  by  the  gangway  to  receive  them ;  and  he  was 
gravely  respectful  to  the  stranger  lady,  as  he  assisted  her  to 
get  up  the  small  wooden  steps  ;  but  there  was  no  light  of 
welcome  in  the  keen  gray  eyes.  He  quickly  turned  away 
from  her  to  give  his  orders  ;  for  Hamish  was  on  this  occa- 
sion skipper,  and  had  donned  a  smart  suit  of  blue  with  brass 
buttons.  Perhaps  he  would  have  been  prouder  of  his  buttons, 
and  of  himself,  and  of  the  yacht  he  had  sailed  for  so  many 
years,  if  it  had  been  any  other  than  Gertrude  White  who  had 
now  stepped  on  board. 

But,  on  the  other  hand.  Miss  White  was  quite  charmed 
with  this  shapely  vessel  and  all  its  contents.  If  the  frugal 
ways  and  commonplace  duties  and  conversation  of  Castle 
Dare  had  somewhat  disappointed  her,  and  had  seemed  to 
her  not  quite  in  accordance  with  the  heroic  traditions  of  the 
clans,  here,  at  least,  was  something  which  she  could  recog- 
nize as  befitting  her  notion  of  the  name  and  position  of  Sir 
Keith  Macleod.  Surely  it  must  be  with  a  certain  masterful 
sense  of  possession  that  he  would  stand  on  those  white  decks, 
independent  of  all  the  world  besides,  with  those  sinewy,  sun- 
browned,  handsome  fellows  ready  to  go  anywhere  with  him 
at  his  bidding .?  It  is  true  that  Macleod,  in  showing  her  over 
the  yacht,  seemed  to  know  far  too  much  about  tinned  meats  ; 
and  he  exhibited  with  some  pride  a  cunning  device  for  the 
stowage  of  soda-water ;  and  he  even  went  the  length  of  ex- 
plaining to  her  the  capacities  of  the  linen-chest ;  but  then 
she  could  not  fail  to  see  that,  in  his  eagerness  to  interest  and 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


277 


aniase  her,  he  was  as  garrulous  as  a  schoolboy  showing  to 
his  companion  a  new  toy.  Miss  White  sat  down  in  the 
saloon ;  and  Macleod,  who  had  but  little  experience  in  at- 
tending on  ladies,  and  knew  of  but  one  thing  that  it  was 
proper  to  recommend,  said, — 

"  And  will  you  have  a  cup  of  tea  now,  Gertrude  ?  Johnny 
\^  ill  get  it  to  you  in  a  moment." 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  she,  with  a  smile  ,  for  she  knew  not 
how  often  he  had  offered  her  a  cup  of  tea  since  her  arrival  in 
the  Highlands.  "  But  do  you  know,  Keith,  your  yacht  has  a 
terrible  bachelor  look  about  it  ?  All  the  comforts  of  it  are  in 
this  saloon  and  in  those  two  nice  little  state-rooms.  Your 
lady's  cabin  looks  very  empty ;  it  is  too  elegant  and  fine,  as  if 
you  were  afraid  to  leave  a  book  or  a  match-box  in  it.  Now, 
if  you  were  to  turn  this  into  a  lady's  yacht;  you  would  have 
to  remove  that  pipe-rack,  and  the  guns  and  rifles  and  bags." 

*'  Oh,"  said  he,  anxiously,  "  I  hope  you  do  not  smell  any 
tobacco  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  she.  "  It  was  only  a  fancy.  Of  course 
you  are  not  likely  to  turn  your  yacht  into  a  lady's  yacht." 

He  started  and  looked  at  her.  But  she  had  spoken  quite 
thoughtlessly,  and  had  now  turned  to  her  father. 

When  they  went  on  deck  again  they  found  that  the  U^n- 
pire,  beating  up  in  the  face  of  a  light  northerly  breeze,  had 
run  out  for  a  long  tack  almost  to  the  Dutchman's  Cap  ;  and 
from  a  certain  distance  they  could  see  the  grim  shores  of  this 
desolate  island,  with  its  faint  tinge  of  green  grass  over  the 
brown  of  its  plateau  of  rock.  And  then  Hamish  called  out, 
"  Ready,  about !  "  and  presently  they  were  slowly  leaving  be- 
hind that  lonely  Dutchman  and  making  away  for  the  distant 
entrance  to  Loch  Tua.  The  breeze  was  slight ;  they  made  but 
little  way  ;  far  on  the  blue  waters  they  watched  the  white  gulls 
sitting  buoyant ;  and  the  sun  was  hot  on  their  hands.  What 
did  they  talk  about  in  this  summer  idleness  ?  Many  a  time 
he  had  dreamed  of  his  thus  sailing  over  the  clear  seas  with 
the  fair  Fionaghal  from  the  South,  until  at  times  his  heart, 
giown  sick  with  yearning,  was  ready  to  despair  of  the  im- 
possible. And  yet  here  she  was  sitting  on  a  deck-stool  near 
him — the  wide-apart,  long-lashed  eyes  occasionally  regarding 
him — a  neglected  book  open  on  her  lap — the  small  gloved 
hands  toying  with  the  cover.  Yet  there  was  no  word  of  love 
spoken.  There  was  only  a  friendly  conversation,  and  the 
idle  passing  of  a  summer  day.  It  was  something  to  know 
that  her  breathing  was  near  him. 


278  MACLEOD  OF  DARE 

Then  the  breeze  died  away  altogether,  and  they  were 
left  altogether  motionless  on  the  glassy  blue  sea.  The  great 
sails  hung  limp,  without  a  single  flap  or  quiver  in  them  ;  the 
red  ensign  clung  to  the  jigger-mast ;  Hamish,  though  he 
stood  by  the  tiller,  did  not  even  put  his  hand  on  that  bold 
and  notable  representation  in  wood  of  the  sea-serpent. 

"  Come  now,  Hamish,"  Macleod  said,  fearing  this  m> 
notonous  idleness  would  weary  his  fair  guest,  "  you  will  tell 
us  now  one  of  the  old  stories  that  you  used  to  tell  me  when 
I  was  a  boy." 

Hamish  had,  indeed,  told  the  young  Macleod  many  a 
mysterious  tale  of  magic  and  adventure,  but  he  was  not  dis- 
posed to  repeat  any  one  of  these  in  broken  English  in  order 
to  please  this  lady  from  the  South. 

"  It  is  no  more  of  the  stories  I  hef  now.  Sir  Keith,"  said 
he.     '*  It  was  a  long  time  since  I  had  the  stories." 

"  Oh,  I  could  construct  one  myself,"  said  Miss  White, 
lightly.  "  Don't  I  know  how  they  all  b^gin  ?  *  There  was  once 
a  king  in  Erin,  and  he  had  a  son  and  this  son  it  u  as  who  would 
take  the  world  for  his  pillow.  But  before  he  set  out  on  his  travels^ 
he  took  counsel  of  the  falcon,  and  the  hoodie,  and  the  otter.  And 
the  falcon  said  to  him,  go  to  the  right;  and  the  hoodie  saia  to 
him,  you  will  be  wise  now  if  you  go  to  the  left ;  but  the  otter 
%aid  to  him,  now  take  my  advice,''  etc.,  etc. " 

"You  have  been  a  diligent  student,"  Macleod  said, 
laughing  heartily.  "  And,  indeed,  you  might  go  on  with  the 
story  and  finish  it ;  for  who  knows  now  when  we  shall  get 
back  to  Dare  ?  " 

It  was  after  a  long  period  of  thus  lying  in  dead  calm — 
with  the  occasional  appearance  of  a  diver  on  the  surface  of 
the  shining  blue  sea — that  Macleod's  sharply  observant  eye 
was  attracted  by  an  odd  thing  that  appeared  far  away  at  the 
horizon. 

"  What  do  you  think  is  that  now  ?  "  said  he,  with  a  smile. 

They  looked  steadfastly,  and  saw  only  a  thin  line  of 
silver  light,  almost  like  the  back  of  a  knife,  in  the  distant 
dark  blue. 

''  The  track  of  a  seal  swimming  under  water,"  Mr.  White 
suggested. 

"  Or  a  shoal  of  fish,"  his  daughter  said. 

"  Watch  !  " 

The  sharp  line  of  light  slowly  spread  ;  a  trembling  silver- 
gray  took  the  place  of  the  dark  blue  ;  it  looked  as  if  invisible 
fingers  were  rushing  out  and  over  the  glassy  surface.     Then 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


279 


they  felt  a  cool  freshness  in  the  hot  air  ;  the  red  ensign 
swayed  a  bit ;  then  the  great  mainsail  flapped  idly  ;  and 
finally  the  breeze  came  gently  blowing  over  the  sea,  and  on 
again  they  went  through  the  now  rippling  water.  And  as 
the  slow  time  passed  in  the  glare  of  the  sunlight,  Staffa  lay 
on  the  still  water  a  dense  mass  of  shadow;  and  they  went  by 
Lunga ;  and  they  drew  near  to  the  point  of  Gometra,  where 
the  black  skarts  were  sitting  on  the  exposed  rocks.  It  was 
like  a  dream  of  sunlight,  and  fair  colors,  and  summer  quiet. 

"  I  cannot  believe,"  said  she  to  him,  "  that  those  fierce 
murders  and  revenges  took  place  in  such  beautiful  scenes  as 
these.     How  could  they  ?  " 

And  then,  in  the  broad  and  still  waters  of  Loch  Tua, 
with  the  lonely  rocks  of  Ulva  close  by  them,  they  were  again 
becalmed  ;  and  now  it  was  decided  that  they  should  leave 
the  yacht  there  at  certain  moorings,  and  should  get  into  the 
gig  and  be  pulled  through  the  shallow  channel  between  Ulva 
and  Mull  that  connects  Loch  Tua  with  Loch-na-Keal. 
Macleod  had  been  greatly  favored  by  the  day  chosen  at  hap- 
hazard for  this  water  promenade  :  at  the  end  of  it  he  was 
gladdened  to  hear  Miss  White  say  that  she  had  never  seen 
anything  so  lovely  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 

And  yet  it  was  merely  a  question  of  weather.  To-morrow 
they  might  come  back  and  find  the  water  a  ruffled  leaden 
color  ;  the  waves  washing  over  the  rocks  ;  Ben  More  invisi- 
ble behind  driving  clouds.  But  now,  as  those  three  sat  in 
the  stern  of  the  gig,  and  were  gently  pulled  by  the  sweep  of 
the  oars,  it  seemed  to  one  at  least  of  them  that  she  must 
have  got  into  fairyland.  The  rocky  shores  of  Ulva  lay  on 
one  side  of  this  broad  and  winding  channel,  the  flatter  shores 
of  Mull  on  the  other,  and  between  lay  a  perfect  mirror  of 
water,  in  which  ever}lhing  was  so  accurately  reflected  that 
it  was  quite  impossible  to  define  the  line  at  which  the  water 
and  the  land  met.  In  fact,  so  vivid  was  the  reflection  of  the 
blue  and  white  sky  on  the  surface  of  the  water  that  it  ap-peared 
to  her  as  if  the  boat  was  suspended  in  mid-air — a  sky  below,  a 
sky  above.  And  then  the  beauty  of  the  landscape  that  enclosed 
this  wonderful  mirror — the  soft  green  foliage  above  the  Ulva 
rocks ;  the  brilliant  yellow-brown  of  the  sea-weed,  with  here 
there  a  gray  heron  standing  solitary  and  silent  as  a  ghost 
over  the  pools  ;  ahead  of  them,  towering  above  this  flat  and 
shining  and  beautiful  landscape,  the  awful  majesty  of  the 
mountains  around  Loch-na-Keal— the  monarch  of  tnem,  Ben 
More,  showing  a  cone  of  dark  and  thunderous  purple  under 


28o  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

a  long  and  heavy  swathe  of  cloud.  Far  away,  too,  on  their 
right,  stretched  the  splendid  rampart  of  the  Gribun  cliifs,  a 
soft  sunlight  on  'ihe  grassy  greens  of  their  summits  ;  a  pale 
and  brilliant  blue  in  the  shadows  of  the  huge  and  yawning 
caves.  And  so  still  it  was,  and  the  air  so  fine  and  sweet :  it 
was  a  day  for  the  idling  of  happy  lovers. 

What  jarred,  then  ?  Not  the  silent  appearance  of  the 
head  of  a  seal  in  that  shining  plain  of  blue  and  white  ;  for 
the  poor  old  fellow  only  regarded  the  boat  for  a  second  or 
two  with  his  large  and  pathetic  eyes,  and  then  quietly  disap- 
peared. Perhaps  it  was  this — that  Miss  White  was  leaning 
over  the  side  of  the  boat,  and  admiring  very  much  the  won- 
derful hues  of  groups  of  sea-weed  below,  that  were  all  dis- 
tinctly visible  in  the  marvellously  clear  water.  There  were 
beautiful  green  plants  that  spread  their  flat  fingers  over  the 
silver-white  sands  ;  and  huge  rolls  of  purple  and  sombre 
brown  ;  and  long  strings  that  came  up  to  the  surface — the 
traceries  and  decorations  of  these  haunts  of  the  mermaid. 

"  It  is  like  a  pantomime,"  she  said.  "  You  would  expect 
to  see  a  burst  of  lime-light,  and  Neptune  appearing  with  a 
silver  trident  and  crown.  Well,  it  only  shows  that  the  scene- 
painters  are  nearer  nature  than  most  people  imagine.  I 
should  never  have  thought  there  was  anything  so  beautiful 
in  the  sea." 

And  then  again  she  said,  when  they  had  rounded  Ulva, 
and  got  a  glimpse  of  the  open  Atlantic  again, 

"  Where  is  it,  Keith,  you  proposed  to  sink  all  the  theatres 
in  England  for  the  benefit  of  the  dolphins  and  the  lobsters  ? " 

He  did  not  like  these  references  to  the  theatre. 

"  It  was  only  a  piece  of  nonsense,"  said  he,  abruptly. 

But  then  she  begged  him  so  prettily  to  get  the  men  to 
sing  the  boat-song,  that  he  good-humoredly  took  out  a  sheet 
of  paper  and  a  pencil,  and  said  to  her, — 

"  If  I  write  it  down  for  you,  I  must  write  it  as  it  is  prO' 
nounced.  For  how  would  you  know  that  Fhir  a  bhafa,  na 
horo  eile  is  pronounced  Feer  a  vahta  na  horo  ailya  ?  " 

"  And  perhaps,  then,"  said  she,  with  a  charming  smile, 
"writing  it  down  would  spoil  it  altogether?  But  you  will 
ask  them  to  sing  it  for  me." 

He  said  a  word  or  two  in  the  Gaelic  to  Sandy,  who  was 
rowing  stroke  ;  and  Sandy  answered  with  a  short,  quick  laugh 
of  assent. 

"  I  have  asked  them  if  they  would  drink  your  health," 
Macleod  said,  "  and  they  have  not  refused.     It  would  be  a 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  281 

great  compliment  to  them  if  you  would  fill  out  the  whiskey 
yourself  ;  here  is  my  flask." 

She  took  that  formidable  vessel  in  her  small  hands,  and 
the  men  rested  on  their  oars  ;  and  then  the  metal  cup  was 
passed  along.  Whether  it  was  the  dram,  or  whether  it  was 
the  old  familiar  chorus  they  struck  up — 

**  Fbir  a  bhata  (na  horo  eile) 
Fhir  a  bhata  (na  horo  eile) 
Fhir  a  bhata  (na  horo  eile) 
Chead  soire  slann  leid  ge  thobh  a  theid  u," 

certain  it  is  that  the  boat  swung  forward  with  a  new  strength, 
and  erelong  they  beheld  in  the  distance  the  walls  of  Castle 
Dare.  And  here  was  Janet  at  the  small  quay,  greatly  dis- 
tressed because  of  the  discomfort  to  which  Miss  White  must 
have  been  subjected. 

"  But  I  have  been  telling  Sir  Keith,"  she  said,  with  a 
sweet  smile,  "  that  I  have  come  through  the  most  beautiful 
place  I  have  ever  seen  in  the  world." 

This  was  not,  however,  what  she  was  saying  to  herself 
when  she  reached  the  privacy  of  her  own  room.  Her  thoughts 
took  a  different  turn. 

"  And  if  it  does  seem  impossible  " — this  was  her  inward 
speech  to  herself — "  that  those  wild  murders  should  have 
been  committed  in  so  beautiful  a  place,  at  least  there  will  be 
a  fair  chance  of  one  occurring  when  I  tell  him  that  I  have 
signed  an  engagement  that  will  last  till  Christmas.  But  what 
good  could  come  of  being  in  a  hurry  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

A   CAVE   IN    MULL. 


Of  love  not  a  single  word  had  so  far  been  said  between 
these  two.  It  was  a  high  sense  of  courtesy  that  on  his  part 
had  driven  him  to  exercise  this  severe  self-restraint ;  he 
would  not  invite  her  to  be  his  guest,  and  then  take  advantage 
of  the  various  opportunities  offered  to  plague  her  with  the 
vehemence  and  passionate  yearning  of  his  heart.  For  dur- 
ing all  those  long  winter  months  he  had  gradually  learned, 


tS2  MA  CLE  AD  OF  DARE. 

from  the  correspondence  which  he  so  carefully  studied,  that 
she  rather  disliked  protestation ;  and  when  he  hinted  that 
he  thought  her  letters  to  him  were  somewhat  cold,  she  only 
answered  with  a  playful  humor  ;  and  when  he  tried  to  press 
her  to  some  declaration  about  her  leaving  the  stage  or  about 
the  time  of  their  marriage,  she  evaded  the  point  with  an  ex- 
treme cleverness  which  was  so  good-natured  and  friendly 
that  he  could  scarcely  complain.  Occasionally  there  were 
references  in  these  letters  that  awakened  in  his  breast  a  tu- 
mult of  jealous  suspicions  and  fears  ;  but  then  again  he  con- 
soled himself  by  looking  forward  to  the  time  when  she  should 
be  released  from  all  those  environments  that  he  hated  and 
dreaded.  He  would  have  no  more  fear  when  he  could  take 
her  hand  and  look  into  her  eyes. 

And  now  that  Miss  Gertrude  White  was  actually  in  Castle 
Dare — now  that  he  could  walk  with  her  along  the  lonely 
mountain-slopes  and  show  her  the  wonders  of  the  Western 
seas  and  the  islands — what  was  it  that  still  occasioned  that 
vague  unrest  ?  His  nervous  anxiety  that  she  should  be 
pleased  with  all  she  saw  ?  or  a  certain  critical  coldness  in 
her  glance  ?  or  the  consciousness  that  he  was  only  entertain- 
ing a  passing  visitor — a  beautiful  bird  that  had  alighted  on 
his  hand,  and  that  the  next  moment  would  be  winging  its 
flight  away  into  the  silvery  South  ? 

"  You  are  becoming  a  capital  sailor,"  he  said  to  her  one 
day,  with  a  proud  light  on  his  face.  "  You  have  no  fear  at 
all  of  the  sea  now." 

He  and  she  and  the  cousin  Janet — Mr.  White  had  some 
letters  to  answer,  and  had  stayed  at  home — were  in  the  stern 
of  the  gig,  and  they  were  being  rowed  along  the  coast  below 
the  giant  cliffs  of  Gribun.  Certainly  if  Miss  White  had  con- 
fessed to  being  a  little  nervous,  she  might  have  been  excused. 
It  was  a  beautiful,  fresh,  breezy,  summer  day  ;  but  the  heavy 
Atlantic  swell,  that  slowly  raised  and  lowered  the  boat  as  the 
men  rowed  along,  passed  gently  and  smoothly  on,  and  then 
went  booming  and  roaring  and  crashing  over  the  sharp  black 
rocks  that  were  quite  close  at  hand. 

*'  I  think  I  would  soon  get  over  my  fear  of  the  sea,"  she 
said,  gently. 

Indeed,  it  was  not  that  that  was  most  likely  to  impress 
her  on  this  bright  day — it  was  the  awful  loneliness  and  deso- 
lation of  the  scene  around  her.  All  along  the  summit  of  the 
great  cliffs  lay  heavy  banks  of  cloud  that  moved  and  wreathed 
Siemselves  together,  with  mysterious  patches  of  darkness 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  283 

here  and  there  that  suggested  the  entrance  into  far  valleys 
in.  the  unseen  mountains  behind.  And  if  the  outer  surface 
of  these  precipitous  cliffs  was  brightened  by  sunlight,  and  if 
there  was  a  sprinkling  of  grass  on  the  ledges,  every  few  min- 
utes they  passed  the  yawning  archway  of  a  huge  cavern, 
around  which  the  sea  was  roaring  with  a  muffled  and  thun- 
derous noise.  He  thought  she  would  be  interested  in  the 
extraordinary  number  and  variety  of  the  sea-birds  about — the 
solemn  cormorants  sitting  on  the  ledges,  the  rock-pigeons 
shooting  out  from  the  caves,  the  sea-pyots  whirring  along  the 
rocks  like  lightning-flashes  of  color,  the  lordly  osprey,  with 
his  great  wings  outstretched  and  motionless,  sailing  slowly  in 
the  far  blue  overhead.  And  no  doubt  she  looked  at  all  these 
things  with  a  forced  interest ;  and  she  herself  now  could 
name  the  distant  islands  out  in  the  tossing  Atlantic  ;  and  she 
had  in  a  great  measure  got  accustomed  to  the  amphibious 
life  at  Dare.  But  as  she  listened  to  the  booming  of  the 
waves  around  those  awful  recesses ;  and  as  she  saw  the  jagged 
and  angry  rocks  suddenly  appear  through  the  liquid  mass  of 
the  falling  sea ;  and  as  she  looked  abroad  on  the  unknown 
distances  of  that  troubled  ocean,  and  thought  of  the  life  on 
those  remote  and  lonely  islands,  the  spirit  of  a  summer  holi- 
day forsook  her  altogether,  and  she  was  silent. 

"  And  you  will  have  no  fear  of  the  beast  when  you  go 
into  Mackinnon's  cave,"  said  Janet  Macleod  to  her,  with  a 
friendly  smile,  "  because  no  one  has  ever  heard  of  it  again. 
Do  you  know,  it  was  a  strange  thing  t  They  saw  in  the  sand 
the  footprint  of  an  animal  that  is  not  known  to  any  one 
about  here  ;  even  Keith  himself  did  not  know  what  it  was — " 

"  I  think  it  was  a  wild-cat,"  said  he. 

"  xA.nd  the  men  they  had  nothing  to  do  then  ;  and  they 
went  all  about  the  caves,  but  they  could  see  nothing  of  it. 
And  it  has  never  come  back  again." 

"And  I  suppose  you  are  not  anxious  for  its  coming 
back  ?  "  Miss  White  said. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  be  very  lucky  and  see  it  some  day, 
and  I  know  that  Keith  would  like  to  shoot  it,  whatever  it  is." 

"  That  is  very  likely,"  Miss  White  said,  without  any  ap- 
parent sarcasm. 

By  and  by  they  paused  opposite  the  entrance  to  a  cave  that 
seemed  even  larger  and  blacker  than  the  others ;  and  then 
Miss  White  discovered  that  they  were  considering  at  Vv^hat 
point  they  could  most  easily  effect  a  landing.  Already 
through  the  singularly  clear  water  she  could  make  out  vague 


284  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

green  masses  that  told  of  the  presence  of  huge  blocks  of  yel- 
low rock  far  below  them ;  and  as  they  cautiously  went 
farther  toward  the  shore,  a  man  at  the  bow  calling  out  to 
them,  these  blocks  of  rock  became  clearer  and  clearer,  until 
it  seemed  as  if  those  glassy  billows  that  glided  under  the 
boat,  and  then  went  crashing  in  white  foam  a  few  yards  be- 
yond, must  inevitably  transfix  the  frail  craft  on  one  of  these 
jagged  points.  But  at  length  they  managed  to  run  the  bow 
of  the  gig  into  a  somewhat  sheltered  place,  and  two  of  the 
men,  jumping  knee-deep  into  the  water,  hauled  the  keel  still 
farther  over  the  grating  shell-fish  of  the  rock ;  and  then 
Macleod,  scrambling  out,  assisted  Miss  White  to  land. 

"  Do  you  not  come  with  us  ?  "  Miss  White  called  back  to 
the  boat. 

"  Oh,  it  is  many  a  time  I  have  been  in  the  cave,"  said 
Janet  Macleod ;  "and  P will  have  the  luncheon  ready  for 
you.  And  you  will  not  stay  long  in  the  cave,  for  it  is  cold 
and  damp." 

He  took  her  hand,  for  the  scrambling  over  the  rough 
rocks  and  stones  was  dangerous  work  for  unfamiliar  ankles. 
They  drew  nearer  to  this  awful  thing,  that  rose  far  above 
them,  and  seemed  waiting  to  enclose  them  and  shut  them  in 
forever.  And  whereas  about  the  other  caves  there  were 
plenty  of  birds  flying,  with  their  shrill  screams  denoting 
their  terror  or  resentment,  there  was  no  sign  of  life  at  all 
about  this  black  and  yawning  chasm,  and  there  was  an  abso- 
lute silence,  but  for  the  rolling  of  the  breakers  behind  them 
that  only  produced  vague  and  wandering  echoes.  As  she 
advanced  over  the  treacherous  shingle,  she  became  conscious 
of  a  sort  of  twilight  appearing  around  her.  A  vast  black 
thing — black  as  night  and  still  as  the  grave — was  ahead  of 
her ;  but  already  the  change  from  the  blaze  of  sunlight  out- 
side to  this  partial  darkness  seemed  strange  on  the  eyes. 
The  air  grew  colder.  As  she  looked  up  at  the  tremendous 
walls,  and  at  the  mysterious  blackness  beyond,  she  grasped 
his  hand  more  tightly,  though  the  walking  on  the  wet  sand 
was  now  comparatively  easy.  And  as  they  went  farther  and 
farther  into  this  blackness,  there  was  only  a  faint,  strange 
light  that  made  an  outline  of  the  back  of  his  figure,  leaving 
his  face  in  darkness  ;  and  when  he  stopped  to  examine  the 
sand,  she  turned  and  looked  back,  and  behold  the  vast  por- 
tal by  which  they  entered  had  now  dwindled  down  into  a 
small  space  of  bewildering  white. 

"  No,"  said  he,  and  she  was  startled  by  the  hollow  tones 


MACLEOD  OP  DARE.  285 

of  his  voice ;  "  I  cannot  find  any  traces  of  the  boat  news  ; 
they  have  all  gone." 

Then  he  produced  a  candle  and  lit  it ;  and  as  they  ad- 
vanced farther  into  the  blackness,  there  was  visible  this 
solitary  star  of  red  fire,  that  threw  dull,  mysterious  gleams 
from  time  to  time  on  some  projecting  rocks. 

"  You  must  give  me  your  hand  again,  Keith,"  said  she, 
in  a  low  voice ;  and  when  he  shifted  the  candle,  and  took 
her  hand  in  his,  he  found  that  it  was  trembling  somewhat. 

"  Will  you  go  any  farther  ?  "  said  he. 

"  No." 

They  stood  and  looked  around.  The  darkness  seemed 
without  limits  ;  the  red  light  was  insufficient  to  produce  any- 
thing like  an  outline  of  this  immense  place,  even  in  faint  and 
wandering  gleams. 

**  If  anything  were  to  move,  Keith,"  said  she,  "  I  should 
die." 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !  "  said  he,  in  a  cheerful  way ;  but  the 
hollow  echoes  of  the  cavern  made  his  voice  sound  sepulchral. 
"  There  is  no  beast  at  all  in  here,  you  may  be  sure.  And  I 
have  often  thought  of  the  fright  a  wild-cat  or  a  beaver  may 
have  got  when  he  came  in  here  in  the  night,  and  then  discov- 
ered he  had  stumbled  on  a  lot  of  sleeping  men " 

"  Of  men  !  " 

"They  say  thij  was  a  sanctuary  of  the  Culdees  ;.and  I 
often  wonder  how  the  old  chaps  got  their  food.  I  am  afraid 
they  must  have  often  fallen  back  on  the  young  cormorants  : 
that  is  what  Major  Stuart  calls  an  expeditious  way  of  dining 
— for  you  eat  two  courses,  fish  and  meat,  at  the  same  time. 
And  if  you  go  further  along,  Gertrude,  you  will  come  to  the 
great  altar-stone  they  used." 

"  I  would  rather  not  go,"  said  she.  "  I — I  do  not  like 
this  place.     I  think  we  will  go  back  now,  Keith." 

As  they  cautiously  made  their  way  back  to  the  glare  of  the 
entrance,  she  still  held  his  hand  tight ;  and  she  did  not  speak 
at  all.  Their  footsteps  echoed  strangely  in  this  hollow  space. 
And  then  the  air  grew  suddenly  warm  ;  and  there  was  a  glow 
of  daylight  around ;  and  although  her  eyes  were  rather  be- 
wildered, she  breathed  more  freely,  and  there  was  an  air  of 
relief  on  her  face. 

"  I  think  I  will  sit  down  for  a  moment,  Keith,"  said  she  ; 
and  then  he  noticed,  with  a  sudden  alarm,  that  her  cheeks 
were  rather  pale. 


286  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"  Are  you  ill  ? "  said  he,  with  a  quick  anxiety  in  his  eyes 
"  Were  you  frightened  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  she,  with  a  forced  cheerfulness,  and  she 
sat  down  for  a  moment  on  one  of  the  smooth  boulders. 
"  You  must  not  think  I  am  such  a  coward  as  that.  But — the 
chilling  atmosphere — the  change — made  me  a  little  faint." 

"  Shall  I  run  down  to  the  boat  for  some  wine  for  you  ?  I 
know  that  Janet  has  brought  some  claret." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all  !  "  said  she — and  he  saw  with  a  great  de- 
light that  her  color  was  returning.  "  I  am  quite  well  now. 
But  I  will  rest  for  a  minute,  if  you  are  in  no  huriy,  before 
scrambling  down  those  stones  again." 

He  was  in  no  hurry  ;  on  the  contrary,  he  sat  down  beside 
her  and  took  her  hand. 

"You  know,  Gerty,"  said  he,  "  it  will  be  some  time  before 
I  can  learn  all  that  you  like  and  dislike,  and  what  you  can 
bear,  and  what  pleases  you  best ;  it  will  be  some  time,  no 
doubt ;  but  then,  when  I  have  learned,  you  will  find  that  no 
one  will  look  after  you  so  carefully  as  I  will." 

"I  know  you  are  very  kind  to  me,"  said  she,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  And  now,"  said  he,  very  gently,  and  even  timidly,  but 
his  firm  hand  held  her  languid  one  with  something  of  a  more 
nervous  clasp,  "  if  you  would  only  tell  me,  Gerty,  that  on 
such  and  such  a  day  you  would  leave  the  stage  altogether, 
and  on  such  and  such  a  day  you  would  let  me  come  to  Lon- 
don— and  you  know  the  rest — then  I  would  go  to  my  mother, 
and  there  would  be  no  need  of  any  more  secrecy,  and  instead 
of  her  treating  you  merely  as  a  guest  she  would  look  on  you 
as  her  daughter,  and  you  might  talk  with  her  frankly." 

She  did  not  at  all  withdraw  the  small  gloved  hand,  with 
its  fringe  of  fur  at  the  end  of  the  narrow  sleeve.  On  the  con- 
trary, as  it  lay  there  in  his  warm  grasp,  it  was  like  the  small, 
white,  furred  foot  of  a  ptarmigan,  so  little  and  soft  and  gentle 
was  it. 

"  Well,  you  know,  Keith,"  she  said,  with  a  great  kindness 
in  the  clear  eyes,  though  they  were  cast  down,  "  I  think  ihe 
secret  between  you  and  me  should  be  known  to  nobody  at 
all  but  ourselves — any  more  than  we  can  reasonably 
help.  And  it  is  a  very  great  step  to  take  ;  and  you  must  not 
expect  me  to  be  in  a  hurry,  for  no  good  ever  came  of  that.  I 
did  not  think  you  would  have  cared  so  much — I  mean,  a  man 
has  so  many  distractions  and  occupations  of  shooting,  and 
going  away  in  your  yacht  and  all  that — I  fancy — I  am  a  little 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


287 


surprised — that  you  make  so  much  of  it.  We  have  a  great 
deal  to  learn  yet,  Keith  ;  we  don't  know  each  other  very  well. 
By  and  by  we  may  be  quite  sure  that  there  is  no  danger ; 
that  we  understand  each  other ;  that  nothing  and  nobody  is 
likely  to  interfere.  But  wouldn't  you  prefer  to  be  left  in  the 
meantime  just  a  little  bit  free — not  quite  pledged,  you  know, 
to  such"  a  serious  thing " 

He  had  been  listening  to  these  faltering  phrases  in  a  kind 
:,i  dazed  and  pained  stupor.  It  was  like  the  water  over- 
whelming a  drowing  man.  But  at  last  he  cried  out — and  he 
grasped  both  her  hands  in  the  sudden  vehemence  of  the  mo- 
ment  

"  Gerty,  you  are  not  drawing  back  !  You  do  not  despair 
of  our  being  husband  and  wife  !     What  is  it  that  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Keith  !  "  said  she,  quickly  withdrawing  one  of  her 
hands,  "  you  frighten  me  when  you  talk  like  that !  You  do 
not  know  what  you  are  doing — ^you  have  hurt  my  wrist !  " 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not !  "  said  he.  "  Have  I  hurt  your  hand, 
Gerty  ? — and  1  would  cut  off  one  of  mine  to  save  you  a 
scratch !  But  you  will  tell  me  now  that  you  have  no  fears — • 
that  you  don't  want  to  draw  back  !  I  would  like  to  take  you 
back  to  Dare,  and  be  able  to  say  to  every  one,  '  Do  you  know 
that  this  is  my  wife — that  by  and  by  she  is  coming  to  Dare — 
and  you  will  all  be  kind  to  her  for  her  own  sake  and  for  mine.' 
And  if  there  is  anything  wrong,  Gerty,  if  there  is  anything 
you  would  like  altered,  I  would  have  it  altered.  We  have  a 
rude  way  of  life  ;  but  every  one  would  be  kind  to  you.  And 
if  the  life  here  is  too  rough  for  you,  I  would  go  anywhere 
with  you  that  you  choose  to  live.  I  was  looking  at  the 
houses  in  Essex.  I  would  go  to  Essex,  or  anywhere  you 
might  wish;  that  need  not  separate  us  at  all.  And  why  are 
you  so  cold  and  distant,  Gerty  ?  Has  anything  happe  ned 
here  to  displease  you  ?  Have  we  frightened  you  by  too 
nmch  of  the  boats  and  of  the  sea  ?  Would  you  rather  live  in 
an  English  county  away  from  the  sea  ?  But  I  would  do  that 
for  you,  Gerty — if  I  was  never  to  see  a  sea-bird  again." 

And  in  spite  of  himself  tears  rose  quickly  to  his  eyes  ;  for 
she  seemed  so  far  aw^ayfrom  him,  even  as  he  held  her  hand ; 
and  his  heart  would  speak  at  last — or  break. 

"  It  was  all  the  winter  months  I  was  saying  to  myself, 
*  Now  you  will  not  vex  her  with  too  much  pleading,  for  she 
has  much  trouble  with  her  work ;  and  that  is  enough  ;  and  a 
man  can  bear  his  own  trouble.'  And  once  or  twice,  when  we 
liavtbeen  caught  in  a  bad  sea,  I  said  to  myself,  '  And  what 


283  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

matter  now  if  the  end  comes  ? — for  perhaps  that  would  only 
release  her.'  But  then  again,  Gerty,  I  thought  of  the  time 
you  gave  me  the  red  rose  ;  and  I  said,  '  Surely  her  heart  will 
not  go  away  from  me ;  and  I  have  plenty  to  live  for  yet ! " 

Then  she  looked  him  frankly  in  the  face,  with  those  beau- 
tiful, clear,  sad  eyes. 

"  You  deserve  all  the  love  a  woman  can  give  you,  Keith ; 
for  you  have  a  man's  heart.  And  I  wish  I  could  make  you 
a  fair  return  for  all  your  courage,  and  gentleness,  and  kind- 
ness— " 

"  Ah,  do  not  say  that,"  he  said,  quickly.  "  Do  not  think 
I  am  complaining  of  you,  Gerty.  It  is  enough — it  is  enough 
— I  thank  God  for  his  mercy  to  me  ;  for  there  never  was  any 
man  so  glad  as  I  was  when  you  gave  me  the  red  rose.  And 
now,  sweetheart — now  you  will  tell  me  that  I  will  put  av/ay. 
all  this  trouble  and  have  no  more  fears  ;  and  there  will  be 
no  need  to  think  of  what  you  are  doing  far  away  ;  and  there 
will  be  one  day  that  all  the  people  will  know— and  there  will 
be  laughing  and  gladness  that  day ;  and  if  we  will  keep  the 
pipes  away  from  you,  all  the  people  about  will  have  the  pipes, 
and  there  will  be  a  dance  and  a  song  that  day.  Ah,  Gerty, 
you  must  not  think  harshly  of  the  people  about  here.  They 
have  their  ways.  They  would  like  to  please  you.  But  my 
heart  is  with  them ;  and  a  marriage-day  would  be  no  mar- 
riage-day to  me  that  I  did  not  spend  among  my  own  people 
— my  own  people." 

He  was  talking  quite  wildly.  She  had  seen  him  in  this 
mood  once  or  twice  before,  and  she  was  afraid. 

"  But  you  know,  Keith,"  said  she,  gently,  and  with  averted 
eyes,  "  a  great  deal  has  to  be  done  before  then.  And  a  wo- 
man is  not  so  impulsive  as  a  man ;  and  you  must  not  be  an- 
gry if  I  beg  for  a  little  time — " 

"  And  what  is  time  ?  "  said  he,  in  the  same  glad  and  wild 
way — and  now  it  was  his  hand  holding  hers  that  was  trem- 
bling. "  It  will  all  go  by  in  a  moment — like  a  dream — when 
we  know  that  the  one  splendid  day  is  coming.  And  I  will 
send  a  haunch  to  the  Dubh  Artach  men  that  morning ;  and  I 
will  send  a  haunch  to  Skerryvore  ;  and  there  will  not  be  a 
man  in  lona,  or  Coll,  or  Mull,  that  will  not  have  his  dram 
that  day.  And  what  will  you  do^  Gerty — what  will  you  do  ? 
Oh,  I  will  tell  you  now  what  you  will  do  on  that  morning. 
You  will  take  out  some  sheets  of  the  beautiful,  small,  scented 
paper ;  and  you  will  write  to  this  theatre  and  to  that  theatre  : 
*  Good-by— perhaps  you  wei'C  useful  to  fne  ofiee,  and  I  dear  you 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


289 


no  ill-ivill:  but —  Good-by  forever  and  ever  f^  And  I  will 
have  all  the  children  that  1  took  to  the  Crystal  Palace  last 
summer  given  a  fine  dinner  ;  and  the  six  boy-pipers  will  play 
Airs.  Madeod  of  Kaasay  again  ;  and  they  will  have  a  fine  reel 
once  more.  There  will  be  many  a  one  know  that  you  are 
married  that  day,  Gerty.  And  when  is  the  day  to  be,  Gerty  ? 
Cannot  you  tell  me  now  ?  " 

"There  is  a  drop  of  rain  !"  she  exclaimed;  and  she  sud- 
denly sprang  to  her  feet.  The  skies  were  black  overhead. 
"  Oh,  dear  me  !  "  she  said,  "  how  thoughtless  of  us  to  leave 
your  poor  cousin  Janet  in  that  open  boat,  and  a  shower  com- 
ing on  !  Please  give  me  your  hand  now,  Keith.  And  you 
must  not  take  all  these  things  so  seriously  to  heart,  you 
know ;  or  I  will  say  you  have  not  the  courage  of  a  feeble 
woman  like  myself.  And  do  you  think  the  shower  will  pass 
over  1  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  he,  in  a  vague  way,  as  if  he  had 
not  quite  understood  the  question  ;  but  he  took  her  hand,  and 
in  silence  guided  her  down  to  the  rocks,  where  the  boat  was 
ready  to  receive  them. 

And  now  they  saw  the  strange  transformation  that  had 
come  over  the  world.  The  great  troubled  sea  was  all  of  a  dark 
slate-green,  with  no  glad  ripples  of  white,  but  with  long 
squally  drifts  of  black  ;  and  a  cold  wind  was  blowing  gustily 
in  ;  and  there  were  hurrying  clouds  of  a  leaden  hue  tearing 
across  the  sky.  As  for  the  islands — ^where  were  they  ?  Ulva 
was  visible,  to  be  sure,  and  Colonsay — both  of  them  a  heavy 
and  gloomy  purple  ;  and  nearer  at  hand  the  rock  of  Errisker 
showed  in  a  wan,  gray  light  between  the  lowering  sky  and 
the  squally  sea ;  but  Lunga,  and  Fladda,  and  Staffa,  and 
lona,  and  even  the  long  promontory  of  the  Ross  of  Mull, 
were  all  hidden  away  behind  the  driving  mists  of  rain. 

"  Oh  you  lazy  people  !  "  Janet  Macleod  cried,  cheerfully — 
she  was  not  at  all  frightened  by  the  sudden  storm.  "  I 
thought  the  wild  beast  had  killed  you  in  the  cave.  And  shall 
we  have  luncheon  now,  Keith,  or  go  back  at  once  ?  " 

He  cast  an  eye  towards  the  westward  horizon  and  the 
threatening  sky :  Janet  noticed  at  once  that  he  was  rather 
pale. 

"  We  will  have  luncheon  as  they  pull  us  back,"  said  he, 
in  an  absent  way,  as  if  he  was  not  quite  sure  of  what  was  hap- 
pen ing  around  him. 

He  got  her  into  the  boat,  and  then  followed.  The  men, 
not  sorry  to  get  away  from  these  jagged  rocks,  took  to  their 


290  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

oars  with  a  will.  And  then  he  sat  silent  and  distraught,  as 
the  two  women,  muffled  up  in  their  cloaks,  chatted  cheer- 
fully, and  partook  of  the  sandwiches  and  claret  that  Janet 
had  got  out  of  the  basket.  "  Fhir  a  b/iata,''  the  men  sang  to 
themselves  ;  and  they  passed  under  the  great  cliffs,  all  black 
and  thunderous  now ;  and  the  white  surf  was  springing  over 
the  rocks.  Macleod  neither  ate  nor  drank  ;  but  sometimes 
he  joined  in  the  conversation  in  a  forced  way;  and  occasion- 
ally he  laughed  more  loudly  than  the  occasion  warranted. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  said,  "  oh  yes,  you  are  becoming  a  good 
sailor  now,  Gertrude.  You  have  no  longer  any  fear  of  the 
water." 

"  You  will  become  like  little  Johnny  Wickes,  Miss  White," 
the  cousin  Janet  said,  "  the  little  boy  I  showed  you  the  other 
day.  He  has  got  to  be  like  a  duck  in  his  love  for  the  water. 
And,  indeed,  I  should  have  thought  he  would  have  got  a 
fright  when  Keith  saved  him  from  drowning  ;  but  no." 

"  Did  you  save  him  from  being  drowned  ?  "  she  said,  turn- 
ing to  him.     "  And  you  did  not  tell  me  the  story  ?  " 

"  It  was  no  story,"  said  he.  "  He  fell  into  the  water,  and 
we  picked  him  up  somehow  ;  "  and  then  he  turned  impatient- 
ly to  the  men,  and  said  some  words  to  them  in  the  Gaelic, 
and  there  was  no  more  singing  of  the  Farewell  to  the  Boat- 
man after  that. 

"  They  got  home  to  Castle  Dare  before  the  rain  came  on  ; 
though,  indeed,  it  was  but  a  passing  shower,  and  it  was  suc- 
ceeded by  a  bright  afternoon  that  deepened  into  a  clear  and 
brilliant  sunset ;  but  as  they  went  up  through  the  moist-smel- 
ling larchwood — and  as  Janet  happened  to  fall  behind  for  a 
moment,  to  speak  to  a  herdboy  who  was  by  the  wayside — 
Macleod  said  to  his  companion, — 

"And  have  you  no  other  word  for  me,  Gertrude  ?  " 

Then  she  said  with  a  very  gracious  smile, 

"  You  must  be  patient,  Keith.  Are  we  not  very  well  oft 
as  we  are  ?  I  know  a  good  many  people  who  are  not  quite 
so  well  off.  And  I  have  no  doubt  we  shall  have  courage  to 
meet  whatever  good  or  bad  fortune  the  days  may  bring  us  ; 
and  if  it  is  good,  then  we  shall  shake  hands  over  it,  just  as 
the  village  people  do  in  an  opera." 

Fine  phrases ;  though  this  man,  with  the  dark  and  hope- 
less look  in  his  eyes,  did  not  seem  to  gain  much  gladness 
from  them.  And  she  forgot  to  tell  him  about  that  engage- 
ment which  was  to  last  till  Christmas  ;  perhaps  if  .she  had 
told  him  just  then  he  would  scarcely  have  heard  lier. 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


29J 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE   NEW   TRAGEDY. 

His  generous,  large  nature  fought  hard  to  find  excuses 
for  her.  He  strove  to  convince  himself  that  this  strange 
coldness,  this  evasion,  this  half-repellent  attitude,  was  but  a 
form  of  maiden  coyness.  It  was  her  natural  fear  of  so  great 
a  change.  It  was  the  result,  perhaps,  of  some  last  lingering 
look  back  to  the  scene  of  her  artistic  triumphs.  It  did  not 
even  occur  to  him  as  a  possibility  that  this  woman  with  her 
unstable  sympathies  and  her  fatally  facile  imagination,  should 
have  taken  up  what  was  now  the  very  end  and  aim  of  his 
life,  and  have  played  with  the  pretty  dream  until  she  grew 
tired  of  the  toy,  and  was  ready  to  let  her  wandering  fancy 
turn  to  something  other  and  new. 

He  dared  not  even  think  of  that ;  but  all  the  same,  as  he 
stood  at  this  open  window  alone,  an  unknown  fear  had  come 
over  him.  It  was  a  fear  altogether  vague  and  undefined  ; 
but  it  seemed  to  have  the  power  of  darkening  the  daylight 
around  him.  Here  was  the  very  picture  he  had  so  often 
desired  that  she  should  see— the  wind-swept  Atlantic  ;  the 
glad  blue  skies  with  their  drifting  clouds  of  summer  white  ; 
the  Erisgeir  rocks  ;  the  green  shores  of  Ulva  ;  and  Colonsay 
and  Gometra  and  Staffa  all  shining  in  the  sunlight ;  with  the 
sea-birds  calling,  and  the  waves  breaking,  and  the  soft  west 
wind  stirring  the  fuchsia-bushes  below  the  windows  of  Castle 
Dare.  And  it  was  all  dark  now ;  and  the  sea  was  a  lonely 
thing — more  lonely  than  ever  it  had  been  even  during  that 
long  winter  that  he  had  said  was  like  a  grave. 

And  she  ? — at  this  moment  she  was  down  at  the  small 
bridge  that  crossed  the  burn.  She  had  gone  out  to  seek  her 
father ;  had  found  him  coming  up  through  the  larch-wood, 
and  was  now  accompanying  him  back.  They  had  rested 
here  ;  he  sitting  on  the  weatherworn  parapet  of  the  bridge  ; 
she  leading  over  it,  and  idly  dropping  bits  of  velvet-green 
moss  into  the  whirl  of  clear  brown  water  below. 

"  I  suppose  we  must  be  thinking  of  getting  away  from 
Castle  Dare,  Gerty,"  said  he. 


292 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


"  I  shall  not  be  sorry,"  she  answered. 

But  even  Mr.  White  was  somewhat  taken  aback  by  the 
cool  promptitude  of  this  reply. 

"  Well,  you  know  your  own  business  best,"  he  said  to 
her.  "  It  is  not  for  me  to  interfere.  I  said  from  the  begin- 
ning I  would  not  interfere.  But  still  I  wish  you  would  be  a 
little  more  explicit,  Gerty,  and  let  one  understand  what  you 
mean — whether,  in  fact,  you  do  mean,  or  do  not  mean,  to 
marry  Macleod," 

"  And  who  said  that  I  proposed  not  to  marry  him  ?  "  said 
she  ;  but  she  still  leaned  over  the  rough  stones  and  looked 
at  the  water.  "  The  first  thing  that  would  make  me  decline 
would  be  the  driving  me  into  a  corner — the  continual  goad- 
ing, and  reminding  me  of  the  duty  I  had  to  perform.  There 
has  been  just  a  little  too  much  of  that  here  " — and  at  this 
point  she  raised  herself  so  that  she  could  regard  her  father 
when  she  wished — "  and  I  really  must  say  that  I  do  not  like 
to  be  taking  a  holiday  with  the  feeling  hanging  over  you 
that  certain  things  are  expected  of  you  every  other  moment, 
and  that  you  run  the  risk  of  being  considered  a  very  heart- 
less and  ungrateful  person  unless  you  do  and  say  certain 
things  you  would  perhaps  rather  not  do  and  say.  I  should 
like  to  be  let  alone.  I  hate  being  goaded.  And  I  certainly 
did  not  expect  that  you,  too,  papa,  would  try  to  drive-  me 
into  a  corner." 

She  spoke  with  some  little  warmth.     Mr.  White  smiled. 

"  I  was  quite  unaware,  Gerty,"  said  he,  "  that  you  were 
suffering  this  fearful  persecution." 

"  You  may  laugh,  but  it  is  true,"  said  she,  and  there  was 
a  trifle  of  color  in  her  cheeks.  "  The  serious  interests  I  am 
supposed  to  be  concerned  about !  Such  profound  topics  of 
conversation  !  Will  the  steamer  come  by  the  south  to-mor- 
row, or  round  by  the  north  ?  The  Gometra  men  have  had  a 
good  take  of  lobsters  yesterday.  Will  the  head-man  at  the 
Something  lighthouse  be  transferred  to  some  other  light- 
house ?  and  how  will  his  wife  and  family  like  the  change  ? 
They  are  doing  very  well  with  a  subscription  for  a  bell  for 
the  Free  Church  at  lona.  The  deer  have  been  down  at 
John  Maclean's  barley  again.  Would  I  like  to  visit  the 
weaver  at  lona  who  has  such  a  wonderful  turn  for  mathema- 
tics ?  and  would  I  like  to  know  the  man  at  Salen  who  has 
the  biographies  of  all  the  great  men  of  the  time  in  his 
head  ? " 

Miss  White    had  worked  herself    up  to  a  pretty  pitch  of 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  293 

contemptuous  indignation  ;  her  father  Avas  ahnost  beginning 
to  believe  that  it  was  real. 

"  It  is  all  very  well  for  the  Macleods  to  interest  them- 
selves with  these  trmnpery  little  local  matters.  They  play 
the  part  of  grand  patron  ;  the  people  are  proud  to  honor 
them  ;  it  is  a  condescension  when  they  remember  the  name 
of  the  crofter's  youngest  boy.  But  as  for  me — when  I  am 
taken  about — well,  I  do  not  like  being  stared  at  as  if  they 
thought  I  was  wearing  too  fine  clothes.  I  don't  like  being 
continually  placed  in  a  position  of  inferiority  through  my  ig- 
norance— an  old  fool  of  a  boatman  saying  '  Bless  me  ! '  when 
I  have  to  admit  that  I  don't  know  the  difference  between  a 
sole  and  a  flounder.  I  don't  want  to  know.  I  don't  want  to 
be  continually  told.  I  wish  these  people  would  meet  me  on 
my  own  ground.  I  wish  the  Macleods  would  begin  to  talk 
after  dinner  about  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  interference  with 
the  politics  of  burlesque,  and  then  perhaps  they  would  not  be 
so  glib.  I  am  tired  of  hearing  about  John  Maclean's  boat, 
and  Donald  Maclean's  horse,  and  Sandy  Maclean's  refusal  to 
pay  the  road-tax.  And  as  for  the  drinking  of  whiskey  that 
these  sailors  get  through — well,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  ordi- 
nary condition  of  things  is  reversed  here  altogether ;  and  if 
they  ever  put  up  an  asylum  in  Mull,  it  will  be  a  lunatic  asy- 
lum for  incurable  abstainers." 

"  Now,  now,  Gerty  !  "  said  her  father ;  but  all  the  same 
he  rather  liked  to  see  his  daughter  get  on  her  high  horse,  for 
she  talked  with  spirit,  and  it  amused  him.  "  You  must  re- 
member that  Macleod  looks  on  this  as  a  holiday-time,  and 
perhaps  he  may  be  a  little  lax  in  his  regulations.  I  have  no 
doubt  it  is  because  he  is  so  proud  to  have  you  on  board  his 
yacht  that  he  occasionally  gives  the  men  an  extra  glass  ;  and 
I  am  sure  it  does  them  no  harm,  for  they  seem  to  be  as  much 
in  the  water  as  out  of  it." 

She  paid  no  heed  to  this  protest.  She  was  determined  to 
give  free  speech  to  her  sense  of  wrong,  and  humiliation,  and 
disappointment. 

"  What  has  been  the  great  event  since  ever  we  came  here 
— the  wildest  excitement  the  island  can  afford  1 "  she  said. 
"  the  arrival  of  the  pedlar  !  A  snuffy  old  man  comes  into  the 
room,  with  a  huge  bundle  wrapped  up  in  dirty  waterproof. 
Then  there  is  a  wild  clatter  of  Gaelic.  But  suddenly,  don't 
you  know,  there  are  one  or  two  glances  at  me ;  and  the  Gae- 
lic stops  ;  and  Duncan  or  John,  or  whatever  they  call  him, 
begins  to  stammer  in  English,  and  I  am  shown  coarse  stock- 


294 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


ings,  and  bundles  of  wool,  and  drugget  petticoats,  and  cotton 
handkerchiefs.  And  then  Miss  Macleod  buys  a  number  of 
things  which  I  know  she  does  not  want ;  and  I  am  looked  on 
as  a  strange  creature  because  I  do  not  purchase  a  bundle  of 
wool  or  a  pair  of  stockings  fit  for  a  faimer.  The  Autolycus 
of  Mull  is  not  impressive,  pappy.  Oh,  but  I  forgot  the  dra- 
matic surprise — that  also  was  to  be  an  event,  I  have  no  doubt. 
I  was  suddenly  introduced  to  a  child  dressed  in  a  kilt ;  and 
I  was  to  speak  to  him  ;  and  I  suppose  I  was  to  be  profoundly 
moved  when  I  heard  him  speak  to  me  in  my  own  tongue  in 
this  out  of  the  world  place.  My  own  tongue !  The  horrid 
little  wretch  has  not  an  //." 

"  Well,  there's  no  pleasing  you,  Gerty,"  said  he. 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  pleased ;  I  want  to  be  let  alone," 
said  she. 

But  she  said  this  with  just  a  little  too  much  sharpness  ;  for 
her  father  was,  after  all,  a  human  being ;  and  it  did  seem  to 
him  to  be  too  bad  that  he  should  be  taunted  in  this  fashion, 
when  he  had  done  his  best  to  preserve  a  wholly  neutral  atti- 
tude. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  this,  madam,"  said  he,  in  a  playful 
manner,  but  with  some  decision  in  his  tone,  "  that  you  may 
live  to  have  the  pride  taken  out  of  you.  You  have  had  a  good 
deal  of  flattery  and  spoiling  ;  and  you  may  find  out  you  have 
been  expecting  too  much.  As  for  these  Macleods  here,  I  will 
say  this — although  I  came  here  very  much  against  my  own 
inclination — that  I  defy  any  one  to  have  been  more  kind,  and 
courteous,  and  attentive  than  they  have  been  to  you.  I  don't 
care.  It  is  not  my  business,  as  I  tell  you.  But  I  must  say, 
Gerty,  that  when  you  make  a  string  of  complaints  as  the  only 
return  for  all  their  hospitality — their  excessive  and  almost 
burdensome  hospitality — I  think  that  even  I  am  bound  to  say 
a  word.  You  forget  how  you  come  here.  You,  a  perfect 
stranger,  come  here  as  engaged  to  marry  the  old  lady's  only 
son — to  dispossess  her — very  probably  to  make  impossible  a 
match  that  she  had  set  her  heart  on.  And  both  she  and  her 
niece — you  understand  what  I  mean — instead  of  being  cold, 
or  at  least  formal,  to  you,  seem  to  me  to  think  of  nothing 
from  morning  till  night  but  how  to  surround  you  with  kind- 
ness, '.n  a  way  that  Englishwomen  would  never  think  of. 
And  this  you  call  persecution ;  and  you  are  vexed  with  them 
because  they  won't  talk  to  you  about  theatres — why,  bless  my 
soul,  how  long  it  is  since  you  were  yourself  talking  about 
theatres  as  if  the  ver}'  word  choked  you }  " 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  295 

"  Well,  at  least,  pappy,  I  never  thought  you  would  turn 
against  me,"  said  she,  as  she  put  her  head  partly  aside,  and 
made  a  mouth  as  if  she  were  about  to  cry ; "  and  when  mam- 
ma made  you  promise  to  look  after  Carry  and  me,  I  am  sure 
she  never  thought — " 

Now  this  was  too  much  for  Mr.  White.  In  the  small  eyes 
behind  the  big  gold  spectacles  there  was  a  quick  flash  *of 
fire. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Gerty  1 "  said  he,  in  downright  anger, 
*'  You  know  it  is  no  use  your  trying  to  humbug  me.  If  you 
think  the  ways  of  this  house  are  too  poor  and  mean  for  your 
grand  notions  of  state — if  you  think  he  has  not  enough 
money,  and  you  are  not  likely  to  have  fine  dinners  and  enter- 
tainments for  your  friends — if  you  are  determiiicd  to  break 
off  the  match — why,  then  do  it !  but,  I  tell  you,  don't  try  to 
humbug  me !  " 

Miss  White's  pathetic  attitude  suddenly  vanished.  She 
drew  herself  up  with  much  dignity  and  composure,  and  said, 

"  At  all  events,  sir,  I  have  been  taught  my  duty  to  you ; 
and  I  think  it  better  not  to  answer  you." 

With  that  she  moved  off  toward  the  house ;  and  Mr. 
White,  taking  to  whistling,  began  to  do  as  she  had  been  do- 
ing— idly  throwing  bits  of  moss  into  the  rushing  burn.  After 
all,  it  was  none  of  his  business. 

But  that  evening,  some  little  time  before  dinner,  it  was 
proposed  they  should  go  for  a  stroll  down  to  the  shore  ;  and 
then  it  was  that  Miss  White  thought  she  would  seize  the  oc- 
casion to  let  Macleod  know  of  her  arrangements  for  the  com- 
ing autumn  and  winter.  Ordinarily,  on  such  excursions,  she 
managed  to  walk  with  Janet  Macleod — the  old  lady  of  Castle 
Dare  seldom  joined  them — leaving  Macleod  to  follow  with 
her  father ;  but  this  time  she  so  managed  it  that  Macleod 
'and  she  left  the  house  together.  Was  he  greatly  overjoyed  ? 
There  was  a  constrained  and  anxious  look  on  his  face  that 
had  been  there  too  much  of  late. 

"  I  suppose  Oscar  is  more  at  home  here  than  in  Bury 
Street,  St.  James's  ?  "  said  she,  as  the  handsome  collie  went 
down  the  path  before  them. 

"  No  doubt,"  said  he,  absently  :  he  was  not  thinking  of 
any  collie. 

*'  What  beautiful  weather  we  are  having,"  said  she,  to  this 
silent  companion.  "  It  is  always  changing,  but  always  beau- 
tiful. There  is  only  one  other  aspect  1  should  like  to  see — 
the  snow  time." 


296  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"  We  have  not  much  snow  here,"  said  he.  "  It  seldom 
lies  in  the  winter." 

This  was  a  strange  conversation  for  two  engaged  lovers 
it  was  not  much  more  interesting  than  their  talk — how  many 
ages  ago  ? — at  Charing  Cross  station.  But  then,  when  she 
had  said  to  him,  "  Ought  we  to  take  tickets  ?  "  she  had  looked 
into  his  face  with  those  appealing,  innocent,  beautiful  eye&^ 
Now  her  eyes  never  met  his.     She  was  afraid. 

She  managed  to  lead  up  to  her  announcement  skilfully 
enough.  By  the  time  they  reached  the  shore  an  extraordi- 
narily beautiful  sunset  was  shining  over  the  sea  and  the  land, 
something  so  bewildering  and  wonderful  that  thay  all  four 
stopped  to  look  at  it.  The  Atlantic  was  a  broad  expanse  of 
the  palest  and  most  brilliant  green,  with  the  pathway  of  the 
sun  a  flashing  line  of  gold  coming  right  across  until  it  met 
the  rocks,  and  there  was  a  jet  black  against  the  glow.  Then 
the  distant  islands  of  Colonsay,  and  Staffa,  and  Lunga,  and 
Fladda  lying  on  this  shining  green  sea,  appeared  to  be  of  a 
perfectly  transparent  bronze  ;  while  nearer  at  hand  the  long 
ranges  of  cliffs  were  becoming  a  pale  rose-red  under  the 
darkening  blue-gray  sky.  It  was  a  blaze  of  color  such  as  she 
had  never  even  dreamed  of  as  being  possible  in  nature  ;  noth- 
ing she  had  as  yet  seen  in  these  northern  latitudes  had  at 
all  approached  it.  And  as  she  stood  there,  and  looked  at 
those  transparent  islands  of  bronze  on  the  green  sea,  she  said 
to  him, — 

"  Do  you  know,  Keith,  this  is  not  at  all  like  the  place  I 
had  imagined  as  the  scene  of  the  gloomy  stories  you  used  to 
tell  me  about  the  revenges  of  the  clans.  I  have  been  fright- 
ened once  or  twice  since  I  came  here,  no  doubt,  by  the  wild 
sea,  and  the  darkness  of  the  cathedral,  and  so  forth  ;  but 
the  longer  I  stay  the  less  I  see  to  suggest  those  awful  stories. 
How  could  you  associate  such  an  evening  as  this  with  a  fright- 
ful tragedy  .-*  Do  you  think  those  people  ever  existed  who 
were  supposed  to  have  suffocated,  or  slaughtered,  or  starved 
to  death  any  one  who  opposed  their  wishes  ?  " 

"  And  I  do  not  suppose  they  troubled  themselves  much 
about  fine  sunsets,"  said  he.  "  That  was  not  what  they  had 
to  think  about  in  those  days." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  she,  lightly  ;  "  but,  you  know,  I  had 
expected  to  find  a  place  from  which  I  could  gain  some  inspi- 
ration for  tragedy — for  I  should  like  to  try,  once  for  all — if 
I  should  have  to  give  up  the  stage — whether  I  had  the  stuff 
of  a  tragic  actress  in  me.     And,  you  know,  in  that  case,  I 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  297 

ought  to  dress  in  black  velvet,  and  carry  a  taper  through 
dungeons,  and  get  accustomed  to  storms,  and  gloom,  and 
thunder  and  lightning." 

"  We  have  no  appliances  here  for  the  education  of  ana 
actress — I  am  very  sorry,"  said  he. 
p  "  Now,  Keith,  that  is  hardly  fair,"  said  she,  with  a  smile. 
"  You  know  it  is  only  a  trial.  And  you  saw  what  they  said 
of  my  Juliet,  Oh,  did  I  tell  you  about  the  new  tragedy  that 
is  coming  out  ? " 

"  No,  I  do  not  think  you  did,"  said  he. 

"  Ah,  well,  it  is  a  great  secret  as  yet ;  but  there  is  no  rea- 
son why  you  should  not  hear  of  it." 

"  I  am  not  anxious  to  hear  of  it,"  said  he,  without  any 
rudeness. 

"  But  it  concerns  me,"  she  said,  "  and  so  I  must  tell  you. 
It  is  written  by  a  brother  of  Mr.  Lemuel,  the  artist  I  have 
often  spoken  to  you  about.  He  is  by  profession  an  architect ; 
but  if  this  play  should  turn  out  to  be  as  fine  as  some  people 
say  it  is,  he  ought  to  take  to  dramatic  writing.  In  fact,  all 
the  Lemuels — there  are  three  brothers  of  them,  you  know — • 
are  like  Michael  Angelo  and  Leonardo — artists  to  the  finger- 
tips, in  every  direction — poets,  painters,  sculptors,  and  all  the 
rest  of  it.  And  I  do  think  I  ought  to  feel  flattered  by  their 
choice  in  asking  me  to  play  the  heroine  ;  for  so  much  de- 
pends on  the  choice  of  the  actress " 

"  And  you  are  still  to  act  ?  "  said  he,  quickly,  though  he 
spoke  in  a  low  voice,  so  that  those  behind  should  not  hear. 

"  Surely  I  explained  to  you  ? "  said  she,  in  a  pleasant 
manner.  "  After  all,  lifelong  habits  are  not  so  easily  cast 
aside  ;  and  I  knew  you  would  be  generous,  and  bear  with  me 
a  little  bit,  Keith." 

He  turned  to  her.  The  glow  of  the  sunset  caught  his  face. 
-There  was  a  strange,  hopeless  sadness  in  his  eyes. 

"  Generous  to  you  ?  "  said  he.  "  You  know  I  would  give 
you  my  life  if  that  would  serve  you.  But  this  is  worse  than 
taking  my  life  from  me." 

"  Keith,  Keith ! "  said  she,  in  gentle  protest,  "  I  don't 
know  what  you  mean.  You  should  not  take  things  so  seri- 
ously. What  is  it,  after  all  ?  It  was  as  an  actress  that  you 
knew  me  first.  What  is  the  difference  of  a  few  months  more 
or  less  ?  If  I  had  nof  been  an  actress,  you  would  never  have 
known  me — do  you  recollect  that  ?  By  the  way,  has  Major 
Stuart's  wife  got  a  piano  ? " 


298 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


He  turned  and  starevi  at  her  for  a  second,  in  a  bewi.deied 
t\'ay. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  he,  with  a  laugh,  "  Mrs.  Stuart  has  got  a 
piano  ;  she  has  got  a  very  good  piano.  And  what  is  the  song 
you  would  sing  now,  sweetheart  ?  Shall  we  finish  up  and 
have  done  with  it,  with  a  song  at  the  end  ?  That  is  the  way 
in  the  theatre,  you  know — a  dance  and  a  song  as  the  people 
go.  And  what  shall  our  song  be  now }  There  was  one  thai 
Norman  Ogilvie  used  to  sing." 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  should  talk  to  me  like  that, 
Keith,"  said  she,  though  she  seemed  somewhat  frightened  by 
this  fierce  gayety.  "  I  was  going  to  tell  you  that  if  Mrs. 
Stuart  had  a  piano  I  would  very  gladly  sing  one  or  two  songs 
for  your  mother  and  Miss  Macleod  when  we  went  over  there 
to-morrow.  You  have  frequently  asked  me.  Indeed,  I  have 
brought  with  me  the  very  songs  I  sung  to  you  the  first  time  I 
saw  you — at  Mrs.  Ross's." 

Instantly  his  memory  flew  back  to  that  day — to  the  hushed 
little  room  over  the  sunlit  gardens — to  the  beautiful,  gentle, 
sensitive  girl  who  seemed  to  have  so  strange  an  interest  in 
the  Highlands — to  the  wonderful  thrill  that  went  through 
him  when  she  began  to  sing  with  an  exquisite  pathos,  "  A 
wee  bird  cam'  to  our  ha'  door,"  and  to  the  prouder  enthusiasm 
that  stirred  him  when  she  sang,  "  I'll  to  Lochiel,  and 
Appin,  and  kneel  to  them  ! "  These  were  fine,  and  tender, 
and  proud  songs.  There  was  no  gloom  about  them — nothing 
about  a  grave,  and  the  dark  winter-time,  and  a  faithless  lost 
love.  This  song  of  Norman  Ogilvie's  that  he  had  gayly  pro- 
posed they  should  sing  now  ?  What  had  Major  Stuart,  or  his 
wife,  or  any  one  in  Mull  to  do  with  "  Death's  black  wine  ?  " 

•'  I  meant  to  tell  you,  Keith,"  said  she,  somewhat  ner- 
vously, "  that  I  had  signed  an  engagement  to  remain  at  the 
Piccadilly  Theatre  till  Christmas  next.  I  knew  you  wouldn't 
mind — I  mean,  you  would  be  considerate,  and  you  would  un- 
derstand how  difficult  it  is  for  one  to  break  away  all  at  once 
from  one's  old  associations.  And  then,  you  know,  Keith," 
said  she,  shyly,  "  though  you  may  not  like  the  theatre,  you 
ought  to  be  proud  of  my  success,  as  even  my  friends  and  ac- 
quaintances are.  And  as  they  are  all  anxious  to  see.  me  make 
another  appearance  in  tragedy,  I  really  should  like  to  try  it ; 
so  that  when  my  portrait  appears  in  the  Academy  next  year, 
people  may  not  be  saying,  '  Look  at  the  impertinence  of  that 
girl  appearing  as  a  tragic  actress  when  she  can  do  nothing 
beyond  the  familiar  modern  comedy  ! '     I  should  have  tola 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE 


299 


you  all  about  it  before,  Keith,  but  I  know  you  hate  to  hear 
any  talk  about  the  theatre ;  and  I  sha'n't  bore  you  agair,  you 
may  depend  on  that.  Isn't  it  time  to  go  back  now  ?  See  ! 
the  rose-color  is  away  from  Ulva  now ;  it  is  quite  a  dark 
purple." 

He  turned  in  silence  and  led  the  way  back.  Behind  them 
he  could  faintly  hear  Mr.  White  discoursing  to  Janet  Mac- 
leod  about  the  manner  in  which  the  old  artists  mixed  their 
own  pigments. 

Then  Macleod  said,  with  a  great  gentleness  and  restraint, 
"  And  when  you  go  away  from  here,  Gertude,  I  suppose 
I  must  say  good-by  to  you  ;  and  no  one  knows  when  we 
shall  see  each  other  again.  You  are  returning  to  the  theatre. 
If  that  is  your  wish,  I  would  not  try  to  thwart  it.  You 
know  best  what  is  the  highest  prize  the  world  can  give  you. 
And  how  can  I  warn  you  against  failure  and  disappointment  ? 
I  know  you  will  be  successful.  I  know  the  people  will  ap- 
plaud you,  and  your  head  will  be  filled  with  their  praises. 
You  are  going  forward  to  a  new  triumph,  Gerty ;  and  the 
first  step  you  will  take  will  be  on  my  heart." 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

AN   UNDERSTANDING. 


"  Pappy  dear,"  said  Miss  White  to  her  father,  in  a  playful 
way,  although  it  was  a  serious  sort  of  playfulness,  "  I  have 
a  vague  feeling  that  there  is  a  little  too  much  electricity  in 
the  atmosphere  of  this  place  just  at  present.  I  am  afraid 
there  may  be  an  explosion  ;  and  you  know  my  nerves  can't 
stand  much  of  a  shock.     I  should  be  glad  to  get  awa)'." 

By  this  time  she  had  quite  made  up  that  little  difference 
with  hftr  father — she  did  not  choose  to  be  left  alone  at  a 
somewhat  awkward  crisis.  She  had  told  him  she  was  sure 
he  had  not  meant  what  he  said  about  her ;  and  she  had  ex- 
pressed her  sorrow  for  having  provoked  him  ;  and  there  an 
end.  And  if  Mr.  White  had  been  driven  by  his  anger  to  be 
for  the  moment  the  ally  of  Macleod,  he  was  not  disinclined 
to  take  the  other  side  now  and  let  Miss  White  have  her  own 
will.     The  vast  amount  of  training  he  had  bestowed  on  her 


300 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


through  many  long  years  was  not  to  be  thrown  awav  after 
all. 

"  I  told  him  last  night,"  said  she,  "  of  my  having  signed 
an  engagement  till  Christmas  next." 

"  Oh,  indeed  ! "  said  her  father,  quickly;  looking  at  her 
over  his  spectacles. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  thoughtfully,  "  and  he  was  not  so  dis- 
turbed or  angry  as  I  had  expected.  Not  at  all.  He  was 
very  kind  about  it.     But  I  don't  understand  him." 

"  What  do  you  not  understand  ?  " 

"  He  has  grown  so  strange  of  late — so  sombre.  Once, 
you  know,  he  was  the  lightest-hearted  young  man — enjoying 
every  minute  of  his  life,  you  know — and  really,  pappy,  I 
think—" 

And  here  Miss  White  stopped. 

"  At  all  events,"  said  she,  quickly,  "  I  want  to  be  in  a  less 
dangerously  excited  atmosphere,  where  I  can  sit  down  and 
consider  matters  calmly.  It  was  much  better  when  he  and 
I  corresponded,  then  we  could  fairly  learn  what  each  other 
thought.  Now  I  am  almost  afraid  of  him — I  mean,  I  am 
afraid  to  ask  him  a  question.  I  have  to  keep  out  of  his  way. 
And  if  it  comes  to  that,  pappy,  you  know,  I  feel  now  as  if  I 
was  called  on  to  act  a  part  from  morning  till  night,  whereas 
I  was  always  assured  that  if  I  left  the  stage  and  married  him 
it  was  to  be  my  natural  self,  and  I  should  have  no  more  need 
to  pose  and  sham.  However,  that  is  an  old  quarrel  between 
you  and  me,  pappy,  and  we  will  put  it  aside.  What's  more 
to  the  purpose  is  this — it  was  half  understood  that  when  we 
left  Castle  Dare  he  was  to  come  with  us  through  at  least  a 
part  of  the  Highlands." 

"  There  was  a  talk  of  it." 

"  Don't  you  think,"  said  Miss  White,  with  some  little 
hesitation,  and  with  her  eyes  cast  down — "  don't  you  think 
that  would  be  a  little  inconvenient  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  that  was  for  you  to  decide,"  he  answered, 
somewhat  coldly  ;  for  it  was  too  bad  that  she  should  be  con- 
tinually asking  his  advice  and  then  openly  disregarding  it. 

"  I  should  think  it  would  be  a  little  uncomfortable,"  she 
said,  demurely.  "  I  fancy  he  has  taken  that  engagement  till 
Christmas  a  little  more  to  heart  than  he  chooses  to  reveal — 
that  is  natural — I  knew  it  would  be  a  disappointment ;  but 
then,  you  know,  pappy,  the  temptation  was  very  great,  and 
I  had  almost  promised  the  Lemuels  to  do  what  I  could  for 
the  piece.     And  if  I  am  to  give  up  the  stage,  wouldn't  it  be 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  301 

fine  to  wind  up  with  a  blaze  of  fireworks  to  astonish  the  pub- 
lic ? " 

"  Are  you  so  certain  you  will  astonish  the  public  ?  "  her 
father  said. 

"  I  have  the  courage  to  try,"  she  answered,  readily. 
"  And  you  are  not  going  to  throw  cold  water  on  my  endeav- 
ors, are  you,  pappy  ?  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  it  is  perhaps  nat- 
ural for  Sir  Keith  Macleod  to  feel  a  bit  annoyed  ;  and  I  am 
afraid  if  he  went  travelling  with  us,  we  should  be  continually 
skating  on  th'e  edge  of  a  quarrel.  Besides,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  pappy — with  all  his  kindness  and  gentleness,  there  is 
sometimes  about  him  a  sort  of  intensity  that  I  scarcely  like 
— it  makes  me  afraid  of  him.  If  it  were  on  the  stage,  I 
should  say  it  was  a  splendid  piece  of  acting — of  the  sup- 
pressed vehement  kind,  you  know  ;  but  really — during  a  holi- 
day-time, when  one  naturally  wishes  to  enjoy  the  fine  weather 
and  gather  strength  for  one's  work — well,  I  do  think  he 
ought  not  to  come  with  us,  pappy." 

"  Very  well ;  you  can  hint  as  much  without  being  rude." 

"  1  was  thinking,"  said  she,  "  of  the  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bald- 
win who  were  in  that  Newcastle  company,  and  who  went  to 
Aberdeen.     Do  you  remember  them,  pappy  ?  " 

"  The  low  comedian,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Well,  at  all  events  they  would  be  glad  to  see  us. 
And  so — don't  you  think  ? — we  could  let  Macleod  understand 
that  we  were  going  to  see  some  friends  in  the  North  ?  Then 
he  would  not  think  of  coming  with  rs." 

"  The  representation  would  scarcely  be  justifiable,"  ob- 
served Mr.  White,  with  a  profound  air,  "  in  ordinary  circum- 
stances. But,  as  you  say,  it  would  be  neither  for  his  comfort 
nor  for  yours  that  he  should  go  with  us." 

"  Comfort !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Much  comfort  I  have  had 
since  I  came  here  !  Comfort  I  call  quiet,  and  being  let  alone. 
Another  fortnight  at  this  place  would  give  me  brain  fever — 
your  life  continually  in  danger  either  on  the  sea  or  by  the 
cliffs — your  feelings  supposed  to  be  always  up  at  passion 
pitch — it  is  all  a  whirl  of  secret  or  declared  emotions  that 
don't  give  you  a  moment's  rest.  Oh,  pappy,  won't  it  be  nice 
to  have  a  day  or  two's  quiet  in  our  own  home,  with  Carry  and 
Marie  ?  And  you  know  Mr.  Lemuel  will  be  in  town  all  the 
summer  and  winter.  The  material  for  his  work  he  finds 
within  himself.  He  doesn't  need  to  scamper  off  like  the  rest 
of  them  to  hunt  out  picturesque  peasants  and  studies  of  water- 
falls—trotting about  the  country  with  a  note-book  in  hand — " 


302 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


"Gerty,  Gerty/'said  her  father,  with  a  smile,  "your  no- 
tions are  unformed  on  that  subject.  What  have  I  told  you 
often  ? — that  the  artist  is  only  a  reporter.  Whether  he  uses 
the  pencil,  or  the  pen,  or  his  own  face  and  voice,  to  express  the 
highest  thoughts  and  emotions  of  which  he  is  conscious,  he 
is  only  a  reporter — a  penny-a-liner  whose  words  are  written 
in  fire.     And  you — don't  you  carry  your  note-book  too  ?  " 

"  I  was  not  comparing  myself  with  an  artist  like  Mr.  Lem- 
uel, pappy.  No,  no.  Of  course  I  have  to  keep  my  eyes 
open,  and  pick  up  things  that  may  be  useful.  His  work  is 
the  work  of  intense  spiri':ual  contemplation — it  is  inspira- 
tion—" 

"  No  doubt,"  the  father  said  ;  "  the  inspiration  of  Botti- 
celli." 

"  Papa  !  " 

Mr.  White  chuckled  to  himself.  He  was  not  given  to 
joking :  an  epigram  was  not  in  consonance  with  his  high  sen- 
tentiousness.  But  instantly  he  resumed  his  solemn  deport- 
ment. 

"  A  picture  is  as  much  a  part  of  the  world  as  a  human 
face  :  why  should  I  not  take  my  inspiration  from  a  picture 
as  well  as  from  a  human  face  ?  " 

"  You  mean  to  say  he  is  only  a  copyist — a  plagiarist  I  " 
she  said,  with  some  indignation. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  he.  "  All  artists  have  their  methods 
founded  more  or  less  on  the  methods  of  those  who  have  gone 
before  them.  You  don't  expect  an  artist  to  discover  for  him- 
self an  entirely  new  principle  o*"  art,  any  more  than  you  ex- 
pect him  to  paint  in  pigments  of  his  own  invention.  Mr. 
r^emuel  has  been  a  diligent  student  of  Botticelli — that  is  all." 
This  strange  talk  amidst  the  awful  loneliness  and  grand- 
eur of  Glen-Sloich  !  They  were  idly  walking  along  the  rough 
road :  far  above  them  rose  the  giant  slopes  of  the  mountains 
retreating  into  heavy  masses  of  cloud  that  were  moved  by 
the  currents  of  the  morning  wind.  It  was  a  gray  day  ;  and 
the  fresh-water  lake  here  was  of  a  leaden  hue,  and  the  browns 
and  greens  of  the  mountain-side  were  dark  and  intense. 
There  was  no  sign  of  human  life  or  habitation ;  there  was 
no  bird  singing ;  the  deer  was  far  away  in  the  unknown  val- 
leys above  them,  hidden  by  the  mystic  cloud  phantoms. 
There  was  an  odor  of  sweet-gale  in  the  air.  The  only  sound 
was  the  murmuring  of  the  streams  that  were  pouring  down 
through  these  vast  solitudes  to  the  sea. 

And  now  they  reached  a  spot  from  whence,  on  turning, 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


303 


they  caught  sight  of  the  broad  plain  of.  the  Atlantic — all 
wind-swept  and  white.  And  the  sky  was  dark  and  low  down, 
though  at  one  place  the  clouds  had  parted,  and  there  was  a 
glimmer  of  blue  as  narrow  and  keen  as  the  edge  of  a  knife. 
But  there  were  showers  about ;  for  lona  was  invisible,  and 
Staff  a  was  faintly  gray  through  the  passing  rain  ;  and  Ulva 
was  almost  black  as  the  storm  approached  in  its  gloom. 
Botticelli !  Those  men  now  in  that  small  lugsailed  boat — 
far  away  off  the  point  of  Gometra — a  tiny  dark  thing,  ap- 
parently lost  every  second  or  so  amidst  the  white  Atlantic 
suri^e,  and  wrestling  hard  with  the  driving  wind  and  sea  to 
reach  the  thundering  and  foam-filled  caverns  of  Staffa — they 
were  not  thinking  much  of  Botticelli.  Keith  Macleod  was 
in  that  boat.  The  evening  before  Miss  White  had  expressed 
some  light  wish  about  some  trifle  or  other,  but  had  laughingly 
said  that  she  must  wait  till  she  got  back  to  the  region  of 
shops.  Unknown  to  her,  Macleod  had  set  off  to  intercept 
the  steamer  :  and  he  would  go  on  board  and  get  hold  of  the 
steward  ;  and  would  the  steward  be  so  kind  as  to  hunt  about 
in  Oban  to  see  if  that  trifle  could  not  be  found  ?  Macleod 
would  not  intrust  so  important  a  message  to  any  one  else  : 
he  would  himself  go  out  to  meet  the  Pioneer. 

"  The  sky  is  becoming  very  dark,"  Mr.  White  said  ;  "  we 
had  better  go  back,  Gerty." 

But  before  they  had  gone  far  the  first  heavy  drops  were 
beginning  to  fall,  and  they  were  glad  to  run  for  refuge  to 
some  great  gray  "boulders  which  lay  in  the  moist  moorland 
at  the  foot  of  the  mountain-slopes.  In  the  lee  of  these  rocks 
they  were  in  comparative  safety  ;  and  they  waited  patiently 
until  the  gale  of  wind  and  rain  should  pass  over.  And  what 
were  these  strange  objects  that  appeared  in  the  gray  mists 
far  along  the  valley  ?  She  touched  her  father's  arm — she  did 
'  not  speak  ;  it  was  her  first  sight  of  a  herd  of  red-deer  ;  and 
as  the  deer  had  doubtless  been  startled  by  a  shepherd  or  his 
dog,  they  were  making  across  the  glen  at  a  good  speed. 
•First  came  the  hinds,  running  almost  in  Indian  file,  and  then, 
with  a  longer  stride,  came  one  or  two  stags,  their  antlered 
heads  high  in  the  air,  as  though  they  were  listening  for 
sounds  behind  them  and  sniffing  the  wind  in  front  of  them 
at  the  same  time.  But  so  far  away  were  they  that  they  were 
only  blurred  objects  passing  through  the  rain-mists ;  they 
passed  across  like  swift  ghosts ;  there  was  no  sound 
heard  at  all.  And  then  the  rain  ceased,  and  the  air  grew 
warm  around  them.     They  came  out  from  the  shadow  of  the 


304 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


rock — behold  !  a  blaze  of  hot  sun  on  the  moist  moors,  with 
a  sudden  odor  of  bracken,  and  young  heather,  and  sweet-gale 
all  about  them.  And  the  sandy  road  quickly  grew  dry  again  ; 
and  the  heavens  opened  ;  and  there  was  a  flood  of  sunlight 
falling  on  that  rushing  and  breezy  Atlantic.  They  walked 
back  to  Dare. 

"  Tuesday,  then,  shall  we  say,  pappy  1 '"  she  remarked; 
I  List  before  entering. 

"  Very  well." 

"  And  we  are  going  to  see  some  friends  in  Aberdeen." 

"Very  well." 

After  this  Miss  White  became  a  great  deal  more  cheerful ; 
and  she  was  very  complaisant  to  them  all  at  luncheon.  And 
quite  by  accident  she  asked  Macleod,  who  had  returned  by 
xhis  time,  whether  they  talked  Scotch  in  Aberdeen. 

"  Because,  you  know,"  said  she,  "  one  should  always  be 
learning  on  one's  travels  ;  and  many  a  time  I  have  heard 
people  disputing  about  the  pronunciation  of  the  Scotch ;  and 
one  ought  to  be  able  to  read  Burns  with  a  proper  accent. 
Now,  you  have  no  Scotch  at  all  here  ;  you  don't  say  *  my 
dawtie,'  and  '  ben  the  hoose,'  and  *  'twixt  the  gloaming  and 
vhe  mirk.'  " 

"  Oh  no,"  said  he,  "  we  have  none  of  the  Scotch  at  all, 
except  among  those  who  have  been  for  a  time  to  Glasgow  or 
Greenock  ;  and  our  own  language,  the  Gaelic,  is  unknown  to 
strangers  ;  and  our  way  of  speaking  English — that  is  only 
made  a  thing  to  laugh  at.  And  yet  I  do  not  laugh  at  all  at 
die  blunders  of  our  poor  people  in  a  strange  tongue.  You 
may  laugh  at  us  for  our  way  of  speaking  English — the  ac- 
cent of  it ;  but  it  is  not  fair  to  laugh  at  the  poor  people  when 
they  will  be  making  mistakes  among  the  verbs.  Did  you 
ever  hear  of  the  poor  Highlander  who  was  asked  how  he  had 
been  employing  himself,  and,  after  a  long  time,  he  said,  '  I 
wass  for  two  years  a  herring  fish  and  I  wass  for  four 
months  or  three  months  a  broke  stone  on  the  road  t ' 
Perhaps  the  Highlanders  are  not  very  clever  at  picking 
up  another  language  ;  but  all  the  same  that  did  not 
prevent  their  going  to  all  parts  of  the  world  and  fighting  the 
battles  of  other  people.  And  do  you  know  that  in  Canada 
there  are  descendants  of  the  Highlanders  who  went  there  in 
the  last  century ;  and  they  are  proud  of  their  name  and  their 
history  ;  and  they  have  swords  that  were  used  at  Falkirk  and 
Culloden :  but  these  Macnabs  and  Mackays,  and  Camerons, 
they  speak  only  French  !     But  I   think,  if  they  have   High 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  305 

land  blood  in  them,  and  if  they  were  to  hear  the  '  Faille 
Phriofisa  /'  played  on  the  pipes,  they  would  recognize  that 
language.     And  why  were  you  asking  about  Aberdeen  ?" 

"  That  is  not  a  Highland  but  a  Scotch  way  of  answering 
my  question,"  said  she,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he,  hastily ;  "  but  indeed 
I  have  never  been  to  Aberdeen,  and  I  do  not  know  what  it  is 
they  speak  there  ;  but  I  should  say  it  was  likely  to  be  a  mix- 
ture of  Scotch  and  English,  such  as  all  the  big  towns  have. 
I  do  not  think  it  is  a  Highland  place,  like  Inverness." 

"  Now  I  will  answer  your  question,"  said  she.  "  I  asked 
you  because  papa  and  I  propose  to  go  there  before  returning 
to  England."  How  quickly  the  light  fell  from  his  face  I 
"  The  fact  is,  we  have  some  friends  there." 

There  was  silence.  They  all  felt  that  it  was  for  Macleod 
to  speak  ;  and  they  may  have  been  guessing  as  to  what  was 
passing  in  his  mind.  But  to  their  surprise  he  said,  in  almost 
a  gay  fashion, — 

"  Ah,  well,  you  know  they  accuse  us  Highland  folk  of 
being  rather  too  importunate  as  hosts  ;  but  we  will  try  not  to 
harass  you  ;  and  if  you  have  friends  in  Aberdeen,  it  would 
not  be  fair  to  beg  of  you  to  leave  them  aside  this  time.  But 
surely  you  are  not  thinking  of  going  to  Aberdeen  yet,  when 
it  is  many  a  place  you  have  yet  to  see  about  here  ?  I  was 
to  take  you  in  the  Umpire  to  Skye  ;  and  we  had  many  a  talk 
about  the  Lewis,  too." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  she,  demurely.  "  I  am 
sure  you  have  been  most  kind  to  us  ;  but — the  fact  is — I 
think  we  must  leave  on  Tuesday." 

"  On  Tuesday  !  "  said  he  ;  but  it  was  only  for  an  instant 
that  he  winced.  Again  he  roused  himself — for  he  was  talk- 
ing in  the  presence  of  his  mother  and  the  cousin  Janet — 
"  You  have  not  been  quite  fair  to  us,"  said  he  cheerfully ; 
"you  have  not  given  yourself  time  to  make  our  acquaintance. 
Are  you  determined  to  go  away  as  you  came — the  Fionaghal  ? 
But  then,  you  know,  Fionaghal  came  and  stayed  among  us 
before  she  began  to  write  her  songs  about  the  Western  Isles  ; 
and  the  next  time  you  come  that  must  be  for  a  longer  time, 
and  you  will  get  to  know  us  all  better,  and  we  will  not 
frighten  you  any  more  by  taking  you  on  the  sea  at  night  or 
into  the  cathedral  ruins.  Ah  !  "  said  he,  with  a  smile  light- 
ing up  his  face — but  it  was  a  constrained  gayety  altogether, 
"  Do  I  know  now  why  you  are  hurrying  away  so  soon  ?  You 


3o6  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

want  to  avoid  that  trip  in  the  Umpire  to  the  island  where  I 
used  to  think  I  would  like  my  grave  to  be — " 

"  Keith  ! "  said  Lady  Macleod,  with  a  frown.  "  How 
can  you  repeat  that  nonsense  !  Miss  White  will  think  you 
are  mad ! " 

"It  was  only  an  old  fancy,  mother,"  said  he,  gently. 
"And  we  were  thinking  of  going  out  to  one  of  the  Treshnish 
islands,  anyway.  Surely  it  is  a  harmless  thing  that  a  man 
should  choose  out  the  place  of  his  own  grave,  so  long  as  he 
does  not  want  to  be  put  into  it  too  soon." 

"  It  will  be  time  for  'you  to  speak  of  such  things  thirty 
years  hence,"  said  Lady  Macleod. 

"  Thirty  years  is  a  long  time,"  said  he ;  and  then  he 
added,  lightly,  "  but  if  we  do  not  go  out  to  the  Treshnish 
islands,  we  must  go  somewhere  else  before  the  Tuesday  ; 
and  would  you  go  round  to  Loch  Sunart  now  ?  or  shall  we 
drive  you  to-morrow  to  see  Glen  More  and  Loch  Buy  ?  And 
you  must  not  leave  Mull  without  visting  our  beautiful  town 
— and  capital — that  is  Tobermory." 

Every  one  was  quite  surprised  and  pleased  to  find  Mac- 
leod taking  the  sudden  departure  of  his  sweetheart  in  this 
fashion  ;  it  showed  that  he  had  abundant  confidence  in  the 
future.  And  if  Miss  White  had  her  own  thoughts  about  the 
matter,  it  was  at  all  events  satisfactory  to  her  that  outwardly 
Macleod  and  she  were  parting  on  good  terms. 

But  that  evening  he  happened  to  find  her  alone  for  a  few 
moments  ;  and  all  the  forced  cheerfulness  had  left  his  eyes, 
and  there  was  a  dark  look  there — of  hojDeless  anxiety  and 
pain. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  force  you,  Gerty — to  persecute  you," 
said  he.  "  You  are  our  guest.  But  before  you  go  away, 
cannot  you  give  me  one  definite  word  of  promise  and  hope 
— only  one  word  ?  " 

"  I  am  quite  sure  you  don't  want  to  persecute  me,  Keith," 
said  she,  "  but  you  should  remember  there  is  a  long  time  of 
waiting  before  us,  and  there  will  be  plenty  of  opportunity  for 
explaining  and  arranging  everything  when  we  have  leisure 
to  write — " 

"  To  wrfte  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  But  I  am  coming  to  see 
you,  Gerty  !  Do  you  think  I  could  go  through  another  series 
of  long  months,  with  only  those  letters,  and  letters,  and 
letters  to  break  one's  heart  over  ?  I  could  not  do  it  again. 
Gerty.  And  when  you  have  visited  your  friends  in  Aberdeen, 
I  am  comino:  to  London." 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  307 

"  Why,  Keith,  there  is  the  shooting  !  " 

"  I  do  not  think  I  shall  try  the  shooting  this  year — it  is 
an  anxiety — I  cannot  have  patience  with  it.  I  am  coming  to 
London,  Gerty." 

"  Oh,  very  well,  Keith,"  said  she,  with  an  affectation  of 
cheerful  content ;  "  then  there  is  no  use  in  our  taking  a  sol- 
emn good-by  just  now — is  there  ?  You  know  how  I  hate 
scenes.  And  we  shall  part  very  good  friends,  shall  we  not  ? 
And  when  you  come  to  London,  we  shall  make  up  all  our 
little  differences,  and  have  everything  on  a  clear  understand- 
ing. Is  it  a  bargain  t  Here  comes  your  cousin  Janet — now 
show  her  that  we  are  good  friends,  Keith  !  And,  for  good- 
ness' sake,  don't  say  that  you  mean  to  give  up  your  shooting 
this  year,  or  she  will  wonder  what  I  have  made  of  you.  Give 
up  your  shooting !  Why,  a  woman  would  as  soon  give  up 
her  right  of  being  incomprehensible  and  whimsical  and  ca- 
pricious— her  right  of  teasing  people,  as  I  very  much  fear  I 
have  been  teasing  you,  Keith.  But  it  will  be  all  set  right 
when  you  come  to  London." 

And  from  that  moment  to  the  moment  of  her  departure 
Miss  White  seemed  to  breathe  more  freely,  and  she  took  less 
care  to  avoid  Keith  Macleod  in  her  daily  walks  and  ways. 
There  was  at  last  quite  a  good  understanding  between  them, 
as  the  people  around  imagined. 


CHAPTER  XXXVin. 

AFRAID. 


But  the  very  first  thing  she  did  on  reaching  home  again 
was  to  write  to  Macleod  begging  him  to  postpone  his  visit 
to  London.  What  was  the  use  ?  The  company  of  which 
she  formed  a  part  was  most  probably  going  on  an  autumn 
tour ;  she  was  personally  very  busy.  Surely  it  would  not 
much  interest  him  to  be  present  at  the  production  of  a  new 
piece  in  Liverpool  ? 

And  then  she  pointed  out  to  him  that,  as  she  had  her  du- 
ties and  occupations,  so  ought  he  to  have.  It  was  monstrous 
his  thought  of  foregoing  the  shooting  that  year.  Why,  if 
he  wanted  some  additional  motive,  what  did  he  say  to  pre- 


3o8  MACLEOD  OF  DARE 

serving  as  much  grouse-plumage  as  would  trim  a  cloak  for 
her  ?  It  was  a  great  pity  that  the  skins  of  so  beautiful  a 
bird  should  be  thrown  away.  And  she  desired  him  to  pre- 
sent her  kind  regards  to  Lady  Macleod  and  to  Miss  Mac- 
leod  ;  and  to  thank  them  both  for  their  great  kindness. 

Immedibately  after  writing  that  letter  Miss  White  seemed 
to   grow  very   light-hearted  indeed,  and   she   laughed   and 
chatted  with  Carry,  and  was  exceedingly  affectionate  toward  . 
her  sister. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  your  own  home  now,  Gerty  ? " 
said  Miss  Carry,  who  had  been  making  some  small  experi- 
ments in  arrangement. 

"  You  mean,  after  my  being  among  the  savages  ?  "  said 
she.  "  Ah,  it  is  too  true.  Carry.  I  have  seen  them  in  their 
war-paint ;  and  I  have  shuddered  at  their  spears  ;  and  I  havo 
made  voyages  in  their  canoes.  But  it  is  worth  while  going 
anywhere  and  doing  anything  m  order  to  come  back  and  ex- 
perience such  a  sense  of  relief  and  quiet.  Oh,  what  a  delicious 
cushion  !  where  did  you  get  it.  Carry  1 " 

She  sank  i)ack  .in  the  rocking-chair  out  on  this  shaded 
veranda.  It  was  the  slumbering  noontide  of  a  July  day 
the  foliage  above  and  about  the  Regent's  Canal  hung  mo 
tionless  in  the  still  sunlight ;  and  there  was  a  perfume  ot 
roses  in  the  air.  Here,  at  last,  was  repose.  She  had  said 
that  her  notion  of  happiness  was  to  be  let  alone  ;  and — now 
that  she  had  despatched  that  forbidding  letter — she  would  be 
able  to  enjoy  a  quiet  and  languor  free  from  care. 

"  Aha,  Gerty,  don't  you  know  t  "  said  the  younger  sister. 
"  Well,  I  suppose,  you  poor  creature,  you  don't  know — you 
have  been  among  the  tigers  and  crocodiles  so  long.  That 
cushion  is  a  present  from  Mr.  Lemuel  to  me — to  me,  mind, 
not  to  you — and  he  brought  it  all  the  way  from  Damascus 
some  years  ago.  Oh,  Gerty,  if  I  was  only  tiiree  years  older, 
shouldn't  I  like  to  be  your  rival,  and  have  a  fight  with  you 
for  him  ! " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  the  elder  sister, 
sharply. 

"  Oh,  don't  you !  Poor,  innocent  thing  !  Well,  I  am  not 
going  to  quarrel  with  you  this  time,  for  at  last  you  are  show- 
ing some  sense.  How  you  ever  could  have  thought  of  Mr. 
Howson,  or  Mr.  Brook,  or  you  know  whom — I  never  could 
imagine  ;  but  here  is  some  one  now  whom  people  have  heard 
of — some  one  with  fame  like  yourself — who  will  understand 
you.     Oh  Gerty,  hasn't  he  lovely  eyes  ?  " 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  309 

"  Like  a  gazelle,"  said  the  other.     "  You  know  what  Mr. 
-said — that  he  never  met  the  appealing  look  of  Mr.  Lem- 


uel's eyes  without  feeling  in  his  pockets  for  a  biscuit." 

"  He  wouldn't  say  anything  like  that  about  you,  Gerty,' 
Carry  said  reproachfully. 

"Who  wouldn't?" 

"  Mr.  Lemuel." 

"  Oh,  Carry,  don't  you  understand  that  I  am  so  glad  to 
be  allowed  to  talk  nonsense  ?  I  have  been  all  strung  up 
lately — like  the  string  of  a  violin.  Everything  au grand  serieux 
I  want  to  be  idle,  and  to  chat,  and  to  talk  nonsense.  Where 
did  you  get  that  bunch  of  stephanotis  ? " 

"  Mr.  Lemuel  brought  it  last  evening.  He  knew  you  were 
coming  home  to-day.  Oh  Gerty,  do  you  know  I  have  seen 
your  portrait,  though  it  isn't  finished  yet ;  and  you  look^^you 
look  like  an  inspired  prophetess.  I  never  saw  anything  so 
lovely  !  " 

"  Indeed  ! "  said  Miss  White,  with  a  smile  ;  but  she  was 
pleased. 

"  When  the  public  see  that,  they  will  know  what  you  are 
really  like,  Gerty — instead  of  buying  your  photograph  in  a 
shop  from  a  collection  of  ballet-dancers  and  circus  women. 
That  is  where  you  ought  to  be — in  the  Royal  Academy :  not 
in  a  shop-window  with  any  mountebank.  Oh,  Gerty,  do  you 
know  who  is  your  latest  rival  in  the  stationers'  windows  ? 
The  woman  who  dresses  herself  as  a  mermaid  and  swims  in 
a  transparent  tank,  below  water — Fin-fin  they  call  her.  I 
suppose  you  have  not  been  reading  the  newspapers  ?  " 

"  Not  much." 

"  There  is  a  fine  collection  for  you  upstairs.  And  there 
is  an  article  ubout  you  in  the  Islington  Young  Men's  Improve- 
ment Association.  It  is  signed  Trismegistus.  Oh,  it  is  beau- 
tiful, Gerty — quite  full  of  poetry  I  It  says  you  are  an  en- 
chantress striking  the  rockiest  heart,  and  a  well  of  pure  emo- 
tion springs  up.  It  says  you  have  the  beauty  of  Mrs.  Sid- 
dons  and  the  genius  of  Rachel." 

"  Dear  me  !  " 

"  Ah,  you  don't  half  believe  in  yourself,  Gerty,"  said  the 
younger  sister,  with  a  critical  air.  "  It  is  the  weak  point 
about  you.  You  depreciate  yourself,  and  you  make_  light  of 
other  people's  belief  in  you.  However,  you  can't  go  against 
your  own  genius.  That  is  too  strong  for  you.  As  soon  as  you 
get  on  the  stage,  then  you  forget  to  laugh  at  yourself." 


3IO 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


"  Really,  Carry,  has  papa  been  giving  you  a  lecture  about 
me  ? " 

"  Oh,  laugh  away  ?  but  you  know  it  is  true.  And  a  woman 
like  you — you  were  going  to  throw  yourself  away  on  a " 

'*  Carry !  There  are  some  things  that  are  better  not 
talked  about,"  said  Gertrude  White,  curtly,  as  she  rose  and 
went  indoors. 

Miss  White  betook  herself  to  her  professional  and  domes* 
tic  duties  with  much  alacrity  and  content,  for  she  believed 
that  by  her  skill  as  a  letter-writer  she  could  easily  ward  off 
the  importunities  of  her  too  passionate  lover.  It  is  true  that 
at  times,  and  in  despite  of  her  playful  evasion,  she  was  visited 
by  a  strange  dread.  However  far  away,  the  cry  of  a  strong 
man  in  his  agony  had  something  terrible  in  it.  And  what 
was  this  he  wrote  to  her  in  simple  and  calm  words  ? — 

"  Are  our  paths  diverging,  Gerty  .''  and  if  that  is  so,  what 
will  be  the  end  of  it  for  me  and  for  you  ?  Are  you  going 
away  from  me  ?  After  all  that  has  passed,  are  we  to  be  sej> 
arated  in  the  future,  and  you  will  go  one  way  and  I  must  go 
the  other  way,  with  all  the  world  between  us,  so  that  I  shall 
never  see  you  again  ?  Why  will  you  not  speak  .?  You  hint 
of  lingering  doubts  and  hesitations.  Why  have  you  not  the 
courage  to  be  true  to  yourself — to  be  true  to  your  woman's 
heart — to  take  your  life  in  your  own  hands,  and  shape  it  so 
that  it  shall  be  worthy  of  you  ?  " 

Well,  she  did  speak  in  answer  to  this  piteous  prayer. 
She  was  a  skilful  letter-writer  : 

"  It  may  seem  very  ungrateful  in  an  actress,  you  know, 
dear  Keith,  to  contest  the  truth  of  anything  said  by  Shak- 
speare  ;  but  I  don't  think,  with  all  humility,  there  ever  was 
so  much  nonsense  put  into  so  small  a  space  as  there  is  in 
these  lines  that  everybody  quotes  at  your  head — 

"  To  thine  own  self  be  true 
And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day 
Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man." 

*  Be  true  to  yourself,'  people  say  to  you.  But  surely  every 
one  who  is  conscious  of  failings,  and  deceitfulness,  and  un 
worthy  instincts,  would  rather  try  to  be  a  little  better  than 
himself  ?  Where  else  would  there  be  any  improvement,  in 
an  individual  or  in  society  ?  You  have  to  fight  against  your- 
self, instead  of  blindly  yielding  to  your  wish  of  the  moment. 
I  know  I,  for  one,  should  not  like  to  trost  myself.  I  wish  to 
be  better  than  I  am — to  be  other  than  I  am — and  I  naturally 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


311 


look  around  for  help  and  guidance.  Then,  you  find  people 
recommending  you  absolutely  diverse  ways  of  life,  and  with 
all  show  of  authority  and  reason,  too  ;  and  in  such  an  impor- 
tant matter  ought  not  one  to  consider  before  making  a  final 
choice  ? " 

Miss  White's  studies  in  mental  and  moral  science,  as  will 
readily  be  perceived,  had  not  been  of  a  profound  character. 
But  he  did  not  stay  to  detect  the  obvious  fallacy  of  her  argu- 
ment. It  was  all  a  maze  of  words  to  him.  The  drowning  man 
does  not  hear  questions  addressed  to  him.  He  only  knows 
that  the  waters  are  closing  over  him,  and  there  is  no  arm 
stretched  out  to  save. 

"  I  do  not  know  myself  for  two  minutes  together,"  she 
wrote.  "  What  is  my  present  mood,  for  example  ?  Wh}/,  one 
of  absolute  and  ungovernable  hatred — hatred  of  the  woman 
who  would  take  my  place  if  I  were  to  retire  from  the  stage. 
I  have  been  thinking  of  it  all  the  morning — picturing  myself 
as  an  unknown  nonentity,  vanished  from  the  eyes  of  the  pub- 
lic, in  a  social  grave.  And  I  have  to  listen  to  people  praising 
the  new  actress  ;  and  I  have  to  read  columns  about  her  in 
the  papers  ;  and  I  am  unable  to  say,  '  Why,  all  that  and  more 
was  written  and  said  about  me  ! '  What  has  an  actress  to 
show  for  herself  if  once  she  leaves  the  stage  ?  People  forget 
her  the  next  day ;  no  record  is  kept  of  her  triumphs.  A 
painter,  now,  who  spends  years  of  his  life  in  earnest  study — 
it  does  not  matter  to  him  whether  the  public  applaud  or  not, 
whether  they  forget  or  not.  He  has  always  before  him  these 
evidences  of  his  genius  ;  and  among  his  friends  he  can  choose 
his  fit  audience.  Even  when  he  is  an  old  man,  and  listening 
to  the  praise  of  all  the  young  fellows  who  have  caught  the 
taste  of  the  public,  he  can,  at  all  events,  show  something  of 
his  work  as  testimony  of  what  he  was.  But  an  actress,  the 
moment  she  leaves  the  stage,  is  a  snuffed-out  candle.  She 
has  her  stage-dresses  to  prove  that  she  acted  certain  parts  ; 
and  she  may  have  a  scrap-book  with  cuttings  of  criticisms 
from  the  provincial  papers !  You  know,  dear  Keith,  all  this 
is  very  heart-sickening ;  and  I  am  quite  aware  that  it  will 
trouble  you,  as  it  troubles  me,  and  sometimes  makes  me 
ashamed  of  myself ;  but  then  it  is  true,  and  it  is  better  for 
both  of  us  that  it  should  be  known.  I  could  not  undertake 
to  be  a  hypocrite  all  my  life.  I  must  confess  to  you,  what- 
ever be  the  consequences,  that  I  distinctly  made  a  mistake 
when  I  thought  it  was  such  an  easy  thing  to  adopt  a  whole 
new  set  of  opinions  and  tastes  and  habits.     The  old  Adam, 


312  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

as  your  Scotch  ministers  would  say,  keeps  coming  back,  to 
jog  my  elbow  as  an  old  familiar  friend.  And  you  would  not 
have  me  conceal  the  fact  from  you  ?  I  know  how  difficult  it 
will  be  for  you  to  understand  or  sympathize  with  me.  You 
have  never  been  brought  up  to  a  profession,  every  inch  of 
your  progress  in  which  you  have  to  contest  against  rivals ; 
and  you  don't  know  how  jealous  one  is  of  one's  position  w^hen 
it  is  gained.  I  think  I  would  rather  be  made  an  old  woman 
of  sixty  to-morrow  morning,  than  get  up  and  go  out  and  find 
my  name  printed  in  small  letters  in  the  theatre-bills.  And  if 
I  try  to  imagine  what  my  feelings  would  be  if  I  were  to  retire 
from  the  stage,  surely  that  is  in  your  interest  as  well  as  mine. 
How  would  you  like  to  be  tied  for  life  to  a  person  who  was 
continually  looking  back  to  her  past  career  with  regret, 
and  who  was  continually  looking  around  her  for  objects  of 
jealous  and  envious  anger  ?  Really,  I  try  to  do  my  duty  by 
everybody.  All  the  time  I  was  at  Castle  Dare  I  tried  to  pic- 
ture myself  living  there,  and  taking  an  interest  in  the  fishing, 
and  the  farms,  and  so  on  ;  and  if  I  was  haunted  by  the  dread 
that,  instead  of  thinking  about  the  fishing  and  the  farms,  I 
should  be  thinking  of  the  triumphs  of  the  actress  who  had 
taken  my  place  in  the  attention  of  the  public,  I  had  to  recog- 
nize the  fact.  It  is  wretched  and  pitiable,  no  doubt ;  but 
look  at  my  training.  If  you  tell  me  to  be  true  to  myself — 
that  is  myself.  And  at  all  events  I  feel  more  contented  that 
I  have  made  a  frank  confession." 

Surely  it  was  a  fair  and  reasonable  letter  ?  But  the 
answer  that  came  to  it  had  none  of  its  pleasant  common- 
sense.  It  was  all  a  wild  appeal — a  calling  on  her  not  to  fall 
away  from  the  resolves  she  had  made — not  to  yield  to  those 
despondent  moods.  There  was  but  the  one  way  to  get  rid 
of  her  doubts  and  hesitations  ;  let  her  at  once  cast  aside  the 
theatre,  and  all  its  associations  and  malign  influences,  and 
become  his  wife,  and  he  would  take  her  by  the  hand  and 
lead  her  away  from  that  besetting  temptation.  Could  she 
forget  the  day  on  which  she  gave  him  the  red  rose  ?  She 
was  a  woman  ;  she  could  not  forget. 

She  folded  up  the  letter  and  held  it  in  her  hand,  and 
went  into  her  father's  room.  There  was  a  certain  petulant 
and  irritated  look  on  her  face. 

"  He  says  he  is  coming  up  to  London,  papa,"  said  she, 
abruptly. 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  Sir  Keith  Macleod,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  of  course.     And  can  you  imagine  anything  more 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  3 , 3 

provoking — ^just  at  present,  when  we  are  rehearsing  this  new 
play,  and  when  all  the  time  I  can  afford  Mr.  Lemuel  wants 
for  the  portrait  ?  I  declare  the  only  time  I  feel  quiet, 
secure,  safe  from  the  interference  of  anybody,  and  more 
especially  the  worry  of  the  postman,  is  when  I  am  having 
that  portrait  painted ;  the  intense  stillness  of  the  studio  is 
delightful,  and  you  have  beautiful  things  all  around  you. 
As  soon  as  I  open  the  door,  I  come  out  into  the  world  again, 
with  constant  vexations  and  apprehensions  all  around. 
Why,  I  don't  know  but  that  at  any  minute  Sir  Keith  Mac- 
leod  may  not  come  walking  up  to  the  gate !  " 

"  And  why  should  that  possibility  keep  you  in  terror  i  '* 
said  her  father,  calmly. 

"  Well,  not  in  terror,"  said  she,  looking  down,  "  but — but 
anxiety,  at  least ;  and  a  very  great  deal  of  anxiety.  Be- 
cause I  know  he  will  want  explanations,  and  promises,  and  I 
don't  know  what — just  at  the  time  I  am  most  worried  and  un- 
settled about  everything  I  mean  to  do." 

Her  father  regarded  her  for  a  second  or  two. 

"  Well  1  "  said  he. 

"  Isn't  that  enough  ?  "  she  said,  with  some  indignation. 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  coldly,  "  you  have  merely  come  to  me  to 
pour  out  your  tale  of  wrongs.  You  don't  want  me  to  inter- 
fere, I  suppose.     Am  I  to  condole  with  you  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  should  speak  to  me  like  that,  at 
all  events,"  said  she. 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you,"  he  responded,  in  the  same  cool, 
matter  of  fact  way.  "  When  you  told  me  you  meant  to  give 
up  the  theatre  and  marry  Sir  Keith  Macleod,  my  answer  was 
that  you  were  likely  to  make  a  mistake.  I  thought  you  were 
a  fool  to  throw  away  your  position  as  an  actress  ;  but  I  did 
not  urge  the  point.  I  merely  left  the  matter  in  your  own 
hands.  Well,  you  went  your  own  way.  Eor  a  time  your 
head  was  filled  with  romance — Highland  chieftains,  and 
gillies,  and  red-deer,  and  baronial  halls,  and  all  that  stuff; 
and  no  doubt  you  persuaded  that  young  man  that  you  be- 
lieved in  the  whole  thing  fervently,  and  there  was  no  end 
to  the  names  you  called  theatres  and  everybody  connected 
with  them.  Not  only  that,  but  you  must  needs  drag  me  up 
to  the  Highlands  to  pay  a  visit  to  a  number  of  strangers  with 
whom  both  you  and  1  lived  on  terms  ot  apparent  hospitality 
and  goodwill,  but  in  reality  on  terms  of  very  great  restraint. 
Very  well.     You  begin  to  discover  that  your  romance  was  a 


3H 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


little  bit  removed  from  the  actual  state  of  affairs — at  least, 
you  say*  so — " 

"  I  say  so  ! "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Hear  me  out,"  the  father  said,  patiently.  "  I  don't 
;\rant  to  offend  you,  Gerty,  but  I  wish  to  speak  plainly.  You 
have  an  amazing  faculty  for  making  yourself  believe  any- 
thing that  suits  you.  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  but  that 
you  have  persuaded  yourself  that  the  change  in  your  manner 
toward  Keith  Macleod  was  owing  to  your  discovering  that 
their  way  of  life  was  different  from  what  you  expected  ;  or 
perhaps  that  you  still  had  a  lingering  fancy  for  the  stage — 
anything  you  like.  I  say  you  could  make  yourself  believe 
anything.  But  I  must  point  out  to  you  that  any  acquaintance 
of  yours — an  outsider — would  probably  look  on  the  marked 
attentions  Mr.  Lemuel  has  been  paying  you ;  and  on  your 
sudden  conversion  to  the  art-theories  of  himself  and  his 
friends  ;  and  on  the  revival  of  your  ambitious  notions  about 
tragedy — " 

"  You  need  say  no  more,"  said  she,  with  her  face  grown 
quickly  red,  and  with  a  certain  proud  impatience  in  her  look. 

"  Oh,  yes,  but  I  mean  to  say  more,"  her  father  said, 
quietly,  "  unless  you  wish  to  leave  the  room.  I  mean  to  say 
this — that  when  you  have  persuaded  yourself  somehow  that 
you  would  rather  reconsider  your  promise  to  Sir  Keith  Mac- 
leod— am  I  right  t — that  it  does  seem  rather  hard  that  you 
should  grow  ill-tempered  with  him  and  accuse  him  of  being 
the  author  of  your  troubles  and  vexations.  I  am  no  great 
friend  of  his — I  disliked  his  coming  here  at  the  outset ;  but 
r  will  say  he  is  a  manly  young  fellow,  and  I  know  he  would 
not  try  to  throw  the  blame  of  any  change  in  his  own  senti- 
ments on  to  some  one  else.  And  another  thing  I  mean  to 
say  is — that  your  playing  the  part  of  the  injured  Griselda  is 
not  quite  becoming,  Gerty:  at  all  events,  I  have  no  sym- 
pathy with  it.  If  you  come  and  tell  me  frankly  that  you  have 
grown  tired  of  Macleod,  and  wish  somehow  to  break  your 
promise  to  him,  then  I  can  advise  you." 

"  And  what  would  you  advise,  then,"  said  she,  with  equal 
calmness,  "  supposing  that  you  choose  to  throw  all  the  blame 
on  me." 

"  I  would  say  that  it  is  a  woman's  privilege  to  be  allowed 
io  change  her  mind  ;  and  that  the  sooner  you  told  him  so  the 
better." 

*'  Very  simple  !  "  she  said,  with  a  flavor  of  sarcasm  in  her 
tone.     "  Perhaps  you  don't  know  that  man  as  I  know  him." 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE 


315 


"  Then  you  are  afraid  of  him  ?  " 

She  was  silent. 

"  These  are  certainly  strange  relations  between  two  pec»- 
ple  who  talk  of  getting  married.  But,  in  any  case,  he  cannot 
suffocate  you  in  a  cave,  for  you  live  in  London  ;  and  in  Lon- 
don it  is  only  an  occasional  young  man  about  Shoreditch  who 
smashes  his  sweetheart  with  a  poker  when  she  proposes  to 
marry  somebody  else.  He  might,  it  is  true,  summon  'you  for 
breach  of  promise  ;  but  he  would  prefer  not  to  be  laughed  at. 
Come,  come,  Gerty,  get  rid  of  all  this  nonsense.  Tell  him 
frankly  the  position,  and  don't  come  bothering  me  with  pre- 
tended wrongs  and  injuries." 

"  Do  you  think  I  ought  to  tell  him  ?  "  said  she,  slowly. 

"  Certainly." 

She  went  away  and  wrote  to  Macleod  ;  but  she  did  not 
wholly  explain  her  position.  She  only  begged  once  more  for 
time  to  consider  her  own  feelings.  It  would  be  better  that 
he  should  not  come  just  now  to  London.  And  if  she  were 
convinced,  after  honest  and  earnest  questioning  of  herself, 
that  she  had  not  the  courage  and  strength  of  mind  necessary 
for  the  great  change  in  her  life  she  had  proposed,  would  it 
not  be  better  for  his  happiness  and  hers  that  the  confession 
should  be  made  ? 

Macleod  did  not  answer  that  letter,  and  she  grew  alarmed. 
Several  days  elapsed.  One  afternoon,  coming  home  from 
rehearsal,  she  saw  a  card  lying  on  the  tray  on  the  hall-table. 

"  Papa,"  said  she,  with  her  face  somewhat  paler  than 
usual,  "  Sir  Keith  Macleod  is  in  London  ! " 


CHAPTER  XXXTX. 


A   CLIMAX. 

She  was  alone  in  the  drawing-room.  She  heard  the  bell 
ring,  and  the  sound  of  some  one  being  let  in  by  the  front 
door.  Then  there  was  a  man's  step  in  the  passage  outside. 
The  craven  heart  grew  still  with  dread. 

But  it  was  with  a  great  gentleness  that  he  came  forward 
to  her,  and  took  both  of  her  trembling  hands,  and  said, — 


31 6  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"  Gerty,  you  do  not  think  that  I  have  come  to  be  angry 
with  you — not  that !  " 

He  could  not  but  see  with  those  anxious,  pained,  tender 
eyes  of  his  that  she  was  very  pale  ;  and  her  heart  was  now 
beating:  so  fast — after  the  first  shock  of  frio^ht — that  for  a 
second  or  two  she  could  not  answer  him.  She  withdrew  her 
Iiands.  And  all  this  time  he  was  regarding  her  face  with  an 
eager,  wistful  intensity. 

"  It  is — so  strange — for  me  to  see  you  again,"  said  he, 
almost  in  a  bewildered  way.  "  The  days  have  been  very  long 
without  you — I  had  almost  forgotten  what  you  were  like. 
And  now — and  now — oh,  Gerty,  you  are  not  angry  with  me 
for  troubling  you  ? " 

She  withdrew  a  step  and  sat  down. 

"  There  is  a  chair,"  said  she.  He  did  not  seem  to  under- 
stand what  she  meant.  lie  was  trying  to  read  her  thoughts 
in  her  eyes,  in  her  manner,  in  the  pale  face  ;  and  his  earnest 
gaze  did  not  leave  her  for  a  moment. 

'•  I  know  you  must  be  greatly  troubled  and  worried, 
Gerty  ;  and — and  I  tried  not  to  come  ;  but  your  last  letter 
was  like  the  end  of  the  world  for  me.  I  thought  everything 
might  go  then.  But  then  I  said,  *  Are  you  a  man,  and  to  be 
cast  down  by  that  1  She  is  bewildered  by  some  passing 
doubt ;  her  mind  is  sick  for  the  moment ;  you  must  go  to  her, 
and  recall  her,  and  awake  her  to  herself ;  and  you  will  see 
her  laugh  again  ! '  And  so  I  am  here,  Gerty  ;  and  if  I  am 
troubling  you  at  a  bad  time — well,  it  is  only  for  a  moment  or 
two  ;  and  you  will  not  mind  that  ?  You  and  I  are  so  differ- 
ent, Gerty !  You  are  all-perfect.  You  do  not  want  the 
sympathy  of  any  one.  You  are  satisfied  with  your  own 
thinkings  ;  you  are  a  world  to  yourself.  But  I  cannot  live 
wiihout  being  in  sympathy  with  you.  It  is  a  cravmg — it  is 
•  like  a  fire —  Well,  I  did  not  come  here  to  talk  about 
myself." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  took  so  much  trouble,"  she  said,  in  a 
low  voice — and  there  was  a  nen-'ous  restraint  in  her  manner. 
"  You  might  have  answered  my  letter,  instead." 

"  Your  letter  ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Why  Gerty,  I  could  not 
talk  to  the  letter.  It  was  not  yourself.  It  was  no  more  part 
of  yourself  than  a  glove.  You  will  forget  that  letter,  and 
all  the  letters  that  ever  you  wrote  ;  let  them  go  away  like  the 
leaves  of  former  autumns  that  are  quite  forgotten  ;  and  instead 
of  the  letters,  be  yourself — as  I  see  you  now — proud-spirited 
and  noble — my  beautiful  Gerty — my  wife  ! " 


MA CLEOD  OF  DARE.  3 1 7 

He  make  a  step  forward  and  caught  her  hand.  She  did 
not  see  that  there  were  sudden  tears  in  the  imploring  eyes. 
She  only  knew  that  this  vehemence  seemed  to  suffocate  her. 

**Keith,"  said  she,  and  she  gently  disengaged  her  hand, 
"  will  you  sit  down,  and  we  can  talk  over  this  matter  calmly, 
if  you  please  ;  but  I  think  it  would  have  been  better  if  you 
left  us  both  to  explain  ourselves  in  writing.  It  is  difficult  to 
say  certain  things  without  giving  pain — and  you  know  I  don't 
wish  to  do  that — " 

"  I  know,"  said  he,  with  an  absent  look  on  his  face  ;  and 
he  took  the  chair  she  had  indicated,  and  sat  down  beside  her  ; 
and  now  he  was  no  longer  regarding  her  eyes. 

"  It  is  quite  true  that  you  and  I  are  different,"  said  she, 
with  a  certain  resolution  in  her  tone,  as  if  she  was  deter- 
mined to  get  through  with  a  painful  task — "  very  seriously  dif- 
ferent in  everything — in  our  natures,  and  habits,  and  opin- 
ions, and  all  the  rest  of  it.  How  we  ever  became  acquainted 
I  don't  know  ;  I  am  afraid  it  was  not  a  fortunate  accident  for 
either  of  us.     Well—" 

Here  she  stopped.  She  had  not  prepared  any  speech  ; 
and  she  suddenly  found  herself  without  a  word  to  say,  when 
words,  words,  words  were  all  she  eagerly  wanted  in  order  to 
cover  her  retreat.  And  as  for  him,  he  gave  her  no  help.  He 
sat  silent —  his  eyes  downcast — a  tired  and  haggard  look  on 
his  face. 

"  Well,"  she  resumed,  with  a  violent  effort,  "  I  was  say- 
ing, perhaps  we  made  a  mistake  in  our  estimates  of  each 
other.  That  is  a  very  common  thing  ;  and  sometimes  people 
find  out  in  time,  and  sometimes  they  don't.  I  am  sure  you 
agree  with  me,  Keith  .?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  Gerty,"  he  answered,  absently. 

"  And  then — and  then — I  am  quite  ready  to  confess  that 
I  may  have  been  mistaken  about  myself  ;  and  I  am  afraid 
you  encouraged  the  mistake.  You  know,  I  am  quite  sure, 
I  am  not  the  heroic  person  you  tried  to  make  me  believe  I 
was.  I  have  found  myself  out,  Keith  ;  and  just  in  time  be- 
fore making  a  terrible  blunder.  I  am  very  glad  that  it  15  m}-- 
self  I  have  to  blame.  I  have  got  very  little  resolution.  *  Un- 
stable as  water  ' — that  is  the  phrase  :  perhaps  I  should  not 
like  other  people  to  apply  it  to  me ;  but  I  am  quite  ready  to 
apply  it  to  myself  ;  for  I  know  it  to  be  true  ;  and  it  would  be 
a  great  pity  if  any  one's  life  were  made  miserable  through  my 
fault.  Of  course,  I  thought  for  a  time  that  I  was  a  ver)-  cour- 
ageous and  resolute  person — you  flattered  me  into  believing 


3i8  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

It  ;  but  I  have  found  myself  out  since.  Don't  you  under- 
stand, Keith  ?  "  ^ 

He  gave  a  sign  of  assent ;  his  silence  was  more  embar- 
rassing than  any  protest  or  appeal. 

**  Oh,  I  could  choose  such  a  wife  for  you,  Keith  ! — a  wife 
worthy  of  you — a  woman  as  womanly  as  you  are  manly  ;  and  I 
can  think  of  her  being  proud  to  be  your  wife,  and  how  all  tli^ 
people  who  came  to  your  house  would  admire  and  love 
her—" 

He  looked  up  in  a  bewildered  way. 

"  Gerty,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  quite  know  what  it  is  you  are 
speaking  about.  You  are  »peaking  as  if  some  strange  thing 
had  come  between  us ;  and  I  was  to  go  one  way,  and  you 
another,  through  all  the  years  to  come.  Why,  that  is  all  non- 
sense !  See !  I  can  take  your  hand — that  is  the  hand  that 
gave  me  the  red  rose.  You  said  you  k)ved  me,  then ;  you 
cannot  have  changed  already.  I  have  not  changed.  What 
is  there  that  would  try  to  separate  us  ?  Only  words,  Gerty  ! 
— a  cloud  of  words  humming  round  the  ears  and  confusing 
one.  Oh,  I  have  grown  heart-sick  of  them  in  your  letters, 
Gerty;  until  I  put  the  letters  away  altogether,  and  I  said, 
'  They  are  no  more  than  the  leaves  of  last  autumn  :  when  I 
see  Gerty,  and  take  her  hand,  all  the  words  will  disappear 
then.'  Your  hand  is  not  made  of  words,  Gerty  ;  it  is  warm 
and  kind,  and  gentle — it  is  a  woman's  hand.  Do  you  think 
words  are  able  to  make  me  let  go  my  grasp  of  it  ?  I  put 
them  away — I  do  not  hear  any  more  of  them.  I  only  know 
that  you  are  beside  me,  Gerty ;  and  I  hold  your  hand  !  " 

He  was  no  longer  the  imploring  lover :  there  was  a 
strange  elation,  a  sort  of  triumph,  in  his  tone. 

"  Why,  Gerty,  do  you  know  why  I  have  come  to  London  > 
It  is  to  carry  you  off — not  with  the  pipes  yelling  to  drown 
your  screams,  as  Flora  Macdonald's  mother  was  carried  off 
by  her  lover,  but  taking  you  by  the  hand,  and  waiting  for  the 
smile  on  your  face.  That  is  the  way  out  of  all  our  troubli  s, 
Gerty  :  we  shall  be  plagued  with  no  more  words  then.  Oh, 
I  understand  it  all,  sweetheart — your  doubts  of  yourself,  and 
your  thinking  about  the  stage  :  it  is  all  a  return  of  the  old 
and  evil  influences  that  you  and  I  thought  had  been  shaken 
off  forever.  Perhaps  that  was  a  little  mistake  ;  but  no  mat- 
ter. You  will  shake  them  off  now,  Gerty.  You  will  show 
yourself  to  have  the  courage  of  a  woman.  It  is  but  one 
step,  and  you  are  free  !  Gerty,"  said  he,  with  a  smile  on  his 
face,  "  do  you  know  wlial  that  is  ?  " 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  319 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  printed  document,  and  opened 
it.  Certain  words  there  that  caught  her  eye  caused  her  to 
turn  even  paler  than  she  had  been  ;  and  she  would  not  even 
touch  the  paper.     He  put  it  back. 

"  Are  you  frightened,  sweetheart  ?  No  !  You  will  take 
this  one  step,  and  you  will  see  how  all  those  fancies  and 
doubts  will  disappear  forever  !  Oh,  Gerty,  when  I  got  this 
paper  into  my  pocket  to-day,  and  came  out  into  the  street,  I 
was  laughing  to  myself ;  and  a  poor  woman  said,  *  You  are 
very  merry,  sir;  will  you  give  a  poor  old  woman  a  copper? ' 
*  Well,'  I  said,  *  here  is  a  sovereign  for  you,  and  perhaps  you 
will  be  merry  too  ? ' — and  I  would  have  given  every  one  a 
sovereign,  if  I  had  had  it  to  give.  But  do  you  know  what  [ 
was  laughing  at  ? — I  was  laughing  to  think  what  Captain 
Macallum  would  do  when  you  went  on  board  as  my  wife. 
For  he  put  up  the  flags  for  you  when  you  were  only  a  visitot 
coming  to  Dare ;  but  when  I  take  you  by  the  hand,  Gerty, 
as  you  are  going  along  the  gangway,  and  when  we  get  on  to 
the  paddle-box,  and  Captain  Macallum  comes  forward,  and 
when  I  tell  him  that  you  are  now  my  wife,  why,  he  will  not 
know  what  to  do  to  welcome  you !  And  Hamish,  too — I 
think  Hamish  will  go  mad  that  day.  And  then,  sweetheart, 
you  will  go  along  to  Erraidh,  and  you  will  go  up  to  the  sig- 
nal-house on  the  rocks,  and  we  will  fire  a  cannon  to  tell  the 
men  at  Dubh-Artach  to  look  out.  And  what  will  be  the  mes- 
sage you  will  signal  to  them,  Gerty,  with  the  great  white 
boards  ?  Will  you  send  them  your  compliments,  which  is 
the  English  way  ?  Ah,  but  I  know  what  they  will  answer  to 
you.  They  will  answer  in  the  Gaelic  ;  and  this  will  be  the 
answer  that  will  come  to  you  from  the  lighthouse — '  A  hun- 
dred thousand  welcomes  to  the  young  bride  I ^  And  you  will 
soon  learn  the  Gaelic,  too ;  and  you  will  get  used  to  our 
rough  ways  :  and  you  will  no  longer  have  any  fear  of  the 
sea.  Some  day  you  will  get  so  used  to  us  that  you  will  think 
the  very  sea-birds  to  be  your  friends,  and  that  they  know 
when  you  are  going  away  and  when  you  are  coming  back, 
and  that  they  know  you  will  not  allow  any  one  to  shoot  at 
them  or  steal  their  eggs  in  the  springtime.  But  if  you 
would  rather  not  have  our  rough  ways,  Gerty,  I  will  go  with 
you  wherever  you  please — did  I  not  say  that  to  you,  sweet- 
heart ?  There  are  many  fine  houses  in  Essex — I  saw  them 
when  I  went  down  to  Woodford  with  Major  Stuart.  And 
for  your  sake  I  would  give  up  the  sea  altogether ;  and  I 
would  think  no  more  about  boats  ;  and  I  would  go  to  Essex 


320 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


with  you  if  I  was  never  to  see  one  of  the  sea-birds  again. 
That  is  what  I  will  do  for  your  sake,  Gerty,  if  you  wish  ; 
though  I  thought  you  would  be  kind  to  the  poor  people 
around  us  at  Dare,  and  be  proud  of  their  love  for  you,  and 
get  used  to  our  homely  ways.  But  I  will  go  into  Essex,  il 
you  like,  Gerty — so  that  the  sea  shall  not  frighten  you  ;  and 
you  will  never  be  asked  to  go  into  one  of  our  rough  boats 
any  more.  It  shall  be  just  as  you  wish.  Gerty  ;  whether  you 
want  to  go  away  into  Essex,  or  whetluii  you  will  come  away 
with  me  to  the  North,  that  I  will  say  to  Captain  Macallum, 
*  Captain  Macallum,  what  will  you  do,  r  ow  that  the  English 
lady  has  been  brave  enough  to  leave  her  home  and  her 
friends  to  live  with  us  ?  and  what  are  \ve  to  do  now  to  show 
that  we  are  proud  and  glad  of  her  comi.i^  t " 

Well,  tears  did  gather  in  her  eyes  e.s  jhe  listened  to  this 
wild,  despairing  cry,  and  her  hands  weie  working  nervously 
with  a  book  she  had  taken  from  the  tablo  ;  but  what  answer 
could  she  make.  In  self-defence  againil  this  vehemence  she 
adopted  an  injured  air. 

"  Really,  Keith,"  said,  she,  in  a  l-rv  voice,  "you  do  not 
seem  to  pay  any  attention  to  anything  I  say  or  write.  Surely 
1  have  prepared  you  to  understand  th?t  my  consent  to  what 
you  propose  is  quite  impossible — for  ftie  present,  at  least  t 
I  asked  for  time  to  consider." 

"  I  know — I  know,"  said  he.  "You  would  wait,  and  let 
ihose  doubts  close  in  upon  you.  But  here  is  a  way  to  defeat 
[hem  all.  Sweetheart,  why  do  you  not  rise  and  give  me 
your  hand,  and  say  *  Yes  ? '  There  would  be  no  more  doubts 
at  all !  " 

"  But  surely,  Keith,  you  must  understand  me  when  I  say 
that  rushing  into  a  marriage  in  this  -mad  way  is  a  very  dan- 
gerous thing.  You  won't  look  or  listen  to  anything  I  sug- 
gest. And  really — well,  I  think  you  should  have  some  little 
consideration  for  me — " 

He  regarded  her  for  a  moment  with  a  look  almost  of  won- 
der ;  and  then  he  said,  hastily, — 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,  Gerty ;  I  should  not  have  been 
so  selfish.  But — but  you  cannot  tell  how  I  have  suffered — 
all  through  the  night-time,  thinking  and  thinking-  -and  say- 
ing to  myself  that  surely  you  could  not  be  going  av;ay  from 
me — and  in  the  morning,  oh !  the  emptiness  of  all  the  sea 
and  the  sky,  and  you  not  there  to  be  asked  whether  you 
would  go  out  to  Colonsay,  or  round  to  Loch  Scridain,  or  go 
to  see  the  rock-pigeons  fly  out  of  the  caves.     It  is  not  a  lon^r 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


321 


time  since  you  were  with  us  Gerty ;  but  to  me  it  seems 
longer  than  half  a  dozen  of  winters  ;  for  in  the  winter  I  said 
to  myself,  *  Ah,  well,  she  is  now  working  off  the  term  of  her 
imprisonment  in  the  theatre  ;  and  when  the  days  get  long 
again,  and  the  blue  skies  come  again,  she  will  use  the  first 
of  her  freedom  to  come  and  see  the  sea-birds  about  Dare.' 
But  this  last  time,  Gerty — well,  I  had  strange  doubts  and 
misgivings  ;  and  sometimes  I  dreamed  in  the  night-time  that 
you  were  going  away  from  me  altogether — on  board  a  ship 
— and  I  called  to  you  and  you  would  not  even  turn  your 
head.  Oh,  Gerty,  I  can  see  you  now  as  you  were  then — • 
3^our  head  turned  partly  aside  ;  and  strangers  round  you ; 
and  the  ship  was  going  farther  and  farther  away  ;  and  if  I 
jumped  into  the  sea,  how  could  I  overtake  you  ?  But  at 
least -the  waves  would  come  over  me,  and  I  should  have  for- 
getfulness." 

^'  Yes,  but  you  seem  to  think  that  my  letters  to  you  had 
n®  meaning  whatever,"  said  she,  almost  petulantly.  "  Surely 
1  tried  to  explain  clearly  enough  what  our  relative  positions 
were  ? " 

"  You  had  got  back  to  the  influence  of  the  theatre,  Gerty 
— I  would  not  believe  the  things  you  wrote,  I  said,  *  You 
will  go  now  and  rescue  her  from  herself.  She  is  only  a  girl ; 
she  is  timid ;  she  believes  the  foolish  things  that  are  said  by 
the  people  around  her.'  And  then,  do  you  know,  sweetheart," 
said  he,  with  a  sad  smile  on  his  face,  "  I  thought  if  I  were 
to  go  and  get  this  paper,  and  suddenly  show  it  to  you — well, 
it  is  not  the  old  romantic  way,  but  I  thought  you  would 
frankly  say  '  Yes  ! '  and  have  an  end  of  all  this  pain.  Why, 
Gerty,  you  have  been  many  a  romantic  heroine  in  the  theatre  ; 
and  you  know  they  are  not  long  in  making  up  their  minds. 
And  the  heroines  in  our  old  songs,  too :  do  you  know  the 
song  of  Lizzie  Lindsay,  who  *  kilCed  her  coats  o'  green  satin,' 
and  was  off  to  the  Highlands  before  any  one  could  interfere 
with  her  ?  That  is  the  way  to  put  an  end  to  doubts.  Gerty, 
be  a  brave  woman !  Be  worthy  of  yourself !  Sweetheart, 
have  you  the  courage  now  to  *  kilt  your  coats  o'  green  satin  ? ' 
And  I  know  that  in  the  Highlands  you  will  have  as  proud  a 
welcome  as  ever  Lord  Ronald  Macdonald  gave  his  bride 
from  the  South." 

Then  the  strange  -smile  went  away  from  his  face. 

"  I  am  tiring  you,  Gerty,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  you  are  very  much  excited,  Keith,"  said  she ; 
*'  and  you  won't  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say.     I  think  your 


322 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


coming  to  London  was  a  mistake.  You  are  giving  both  of 
us  a  great  deal  of  pain  ;  and,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  to  no  pur- 
pose. We  could  much  better  have  arrived  at  a  proper  no- 
tion of  each  other's  feelings  by  writing  ;  and  the  matter  is 
so  serious  as  to  require  consideration.  If  it  is  the  business 
of  a  heroine  to  plunge  two  people  into  lifelong  misery,  with- 
out thinking  twice  about  it,  then  I  am  not  a  heroine.  Her 
*  coats  o'  green  satin  ! ' — I  should  like  to  know  what  was  the 
end  of  that  story.  Now  really,  dear  Keith,  you  must  bear 
with  me  if  I  say  that  I  have  a  little  more  prudence  than  you, 
and  I  must  put  a  check  on  your  headstrong  wishes.  Now  I 
know  there  is  no  use  in  our  continuing  this  conversation : 
you  are  too  anxious  and  eager  to  mind  anything  I  say.  I 
will  write  to  you." 

"  Gerty,"  said  he,  slowly,  "  I  know  you  are  not  a  selfish 
or  cruel  woman  ;  and  I  do  not  think  you  would  willingly 
pain  any  one.  But  if  you  came  to  me  and  said,  *  Answer 
my  question,  for  it  is  a  question  of  life  or  death  to  me,'  I 
should  not  answer  that  I  would  write  a  letter  to  you." 

"  You  may  call  me  selfish,  if  you  like,"  said  she,  with 
some  show  of  temper,  "  but  I  tell  you  once  for  all  that  I  can- 
not bear  the  fatigue  of  interviews  such  as  this,  and  I  think 
it  was  very  inconsiderate  of  you  to  force  it  on  me.  And  as 
for  answering  a  question,  the  position  we  are  in  is  not  to  be 
explained  with  a  *  Yes  '  or  a  *  No  '—it  is  mere  romance  and 
folly  to  speak  of  people  running  away  and  getting  married  ; 
for  I  suppose  that  is  what  you  mean.  I  will  write  to  you  if 
you  like,  and  give  you  every  explanation  in  my  power.  But  I 
don't  think  we  shall  arrive  at  any  better  understanding  by 
your  accusing  me  of  selfishness  or  cruelty." 

"Gerty!" 

"  And  if  it  comes  to  that,"  she  continued,  with  a  flush  of 
angry  daring  in  her  face,  "  perhaps  I  could  bring  a  similar 
charge  against  you,  with  some  better  show  of  reason." 

"That  I  was  ever  selfish  or  cruel  as  regards  you  !"  said 
lie,  with  a  vague  wonder,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  aright. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you,  then,"  said  she,  "  as  you  seem  bent  on 
recriminations  ?  Perhaps  you  thought  I  did  not  understand  ? 
— that  I  was  too  frightened  to  understand  ?  Oh,  I  knew 
very  well  !  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  ! "  said  he,  in  absolute  be- 
wilderment. 

"  What ! — not  the  night  we  were  caught  in  the  storm  in 
crossing  to  lona  ? — and  when  I  clung  to  your  arm,  you  shook 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


323 


me  ofi,  so  that  you  should  be  free  to  strike  for  yourself  if  we] 
were  thrown  into  the  water  ?  Oh,  I  don't  blame  you  !  It 
was  only  natural.  But  I  think  you  should  be  cautious  in 
accusing  others  of  selfishness." 

For  a  moment  he  stood  looking  at  her,  with  something 
like  fear  in  his  eyes — fear  and  horror,  and  a  doubt  as  to 
whether  this  thing  was  possible  ;  and  then  came  the  hopeless 
cry  of  a  breaking  heart, — 

"  Oh  God,  Gerty  I  I  thought  you  loved  me — and  you  be- 
lieved Ma//" 


CHAPTER  XL. 

DREAMS. 


This  long  and  terrible  night :  will  it  never  end  ?  Or 
will  not  life  itself  go  out,  and  let  the  sufferer  have  rest  ?  The 
slow  and  sleepless  hours  toil  through  the  darkness ;  and 
there  is  a  ticking  ^^  ^  ^Inrk  in  the  hushed  room ;  and  this 
agony  of  pain  still  throbbing  and  throbbing  in  the  breaking 
heart.  And  then,  as  the  pale  dawn  shows  gray  in  the  win- 
dows, the  anguish  of  despair  follows  him  even  into  the  wan 
realms  of  sleep,  and  there  are  wild  visions  rising  before  the 
sick  brain.  Strange  visions  they  are ;  the  confused  and 
seething  phantasmagoria  of  a  shattered  life  ;  himself  regard- 
ing himself  as  another  figure,  and  beginning  to  pity  this 
poor  wretch  who  is  not  permitted  to  die.  "  Poor  wretch — • 
poor  wretch  !  "  he  says  to  himself.  "  Did  they  use  to  call 
you  Macleod ;  and  what  is  it  that  has  brought  you  to  this  ?  " 

See  now  !  He  lays  his  bead  down  on  the  warm  heather, 
on  this  beautiful  summer  day,  and  the  seas  are  all  blue 
around  him  ;  and  the  sun  is  shining  on  the  white  sands  of 
lona.  Far  below,  the  men  are  singing  "  Fhir  a  bhata,^^  and 
the  sea  birds  are  softly  calling.  But  suddenly  there  is  a 
horror  in  his  brain,  and  the  day  grows  black,  for  an  adder 
has  stung  him  ! — it  is  Righinn — the  Princess — the  Queen  of 
Snakes.  Oh  why  does  she  laugh,  and  look  at  him  so  with 
that  clear,  cruel  look  ?  He  would  rather  not  go  into  this 
still  house  where  the  lidless-eyed  creatures  are  lying  in  their 


324  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

awful  sleep.  Why  does  she  laugh  ?  Is  it  a  matter  for  laugh- 
ing that  a  man  should  be  stung  by  an  adder,  and  all  his  life 
grow  black  around  him  ?  *  For  it  is  then  that  they  put  him  in 
a  grave  ;  and  she — she  stands  with  her  foot  on  it !  There  is 
moonlight  around ;  and  the  jackdaws  are  wheeling  over- 
head ;  our  voices  sound  hollow  in  these  dark  ruins.  But 
you  can  hear  this,  sweetheart :  shall  I  whisper  it  to  you  ? 
"  You  are  staiiding  on  the  grave  of  Made od^^ 

Lo  !  the  grave  opens  !  Why,  Hamish,  it  was  no  grave  at 
all,  but  only  the  long  winter ;  and  now  we  are  all  looking  at 
a  strange  thing  away  in  the  south,  for  who  ever  saw  all  the 
beautiful  flags  before  that  are  fluttering  there  in  the  summer 
wind  ?  Oh,  sweetheart ! — ^your  hand — give  me  your  small, 
warm,  white  hand  !  See  !  we  will  go  up  the  steep  path  by 
the  rocks ;  and  here  is  the  small  white  house  ;  and  have  you 
never  seen  so  great  a  telescope  before  ?  And  is  it  all  a  haze 
of  heat  over  the  sea ;  or  can  you  make  out  the  quivering 
phantom  of  the  lighthouse — the  small  gray  thing  out  at  the 
edge  of  the  world  ?  Look  !  they  are  signalling  now  ;  they 
know  you  are  here ;  come  out,  quick  !  to  the  great  white 
boards  ;  and  we  will  send  them  over  a  message — and  you  will 
see  that  they  will  send  back  a  thousand  welcomes  to  the 
young  bride.  Our  ways  are  poor  ;  we  have  no  satin  bowers 
to  shjw  you,  as  the  old  songs  say — but  do  you  know  who  are 
coming  to  wait  on  you  ?  The  beautiful  women  out  of  the 
old  songs  are  coming  to  be  your  handmaidens  :  I  have  asked 
them — I  saw  them  in  many  dreams — I  spoke  gently  to  them, 
and  they  are  coming.  Do  you  see  them  ?  There  is  the 
bonnie  Lizzie  Lindsay,  who  kilted  her  coats  o'  green  satin  to 
be  off  with  young  Macdonald  ;  and  Burd  Helen — she  will 
come  to  you  pale  and  beautiful ;  and  proud  Lady  Maisry, 
that  was  burned  for  her  true  love's  sake;  and  Mary  Scott 
of  Yarrow,  that  set  all  men's  hearts  aflame.  See,  they  will 
take  you  by  the  han'd.  They  are  the  Queen's  Maries.  There 
is  no  other  grandeur  at  Castle  Dare. 

Is  this  Macleod  ?  They  used  to  say  that  Macleod  was  a 
man  !  They  used  to  say  he  had  not  much  fear  of  anything  ; 
but  this  is  only  a  poor  trembling  boy,  a  coward  trembling  at 
everything,  and  going  away  to  London  with  a  lie  on  his  lips. 
And  they  know  how  Sholto  Macleod  died,  and  how  Roder- 
ick Macleod  died,  and  Ronald,  and  Duncan  the  Fair- 
haired,  and  Hector,  but  the  last  of  them — this  poor  wretch 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  325 

—  what  will  they  say  of  him  ?  "  Oh,  he  died  for  the  love  of 
a  woman  !  "  She  struck  him  in  the  heart ;  and  he  coald  not 
strike  back,  for  she  was  a  woman.  Ah,  but  if  it  was  a  man 
now  !  They  say  the  Macleods  are  all  become  sheep  ;  and 
their  courage  has  gone ;  and  if  they  were  to  grasp  even  a 
Rose-leaf  they  could  not  crush  it,  It  is  dangerous  to  say 
that ;  do  not  trust  to  it.  Oh,  it  is  you,  you  poor  fool  in  the 
newspaper,  who  are  whirling  along  behind  the  boat  ?  Does 
the  swivel  work  ?  Are  the  sharks  after  you  ?  Do  you  hear 
them  behind  you  cleaving  the  water  ?  The  men  of  Dubh- 
Artach  will  have  a  good  laugh  when  we  whisk  you  past. 
What !  you  beg  for  mercy  ? — come  out,  then,  you  poor  devil ! 
Here  is  a  tarpaulin  for  you.  Give  him  a  glass  of  whiskey, 
John  Cameron.  And  so  you  know  about  theatres  ;  and  per- 
haps you  have  ambition,  too  ;  and  there  is  nothing  in  the 
world  so  fine  as  people  clapping  their  hands  ?  But  you — 
even  you — if  I  were  to  take  you  over  in  the  dark,  and  the 
storm  came  on,  you  would  not  think  that  I  thrust  you  aside 
to  look  after  myself  ?  You  are  a  stranger  ;  you  are  helpless 
in  boats  :  do  you  think  I  would  thrust  you  aside  ?  It  was  not 
fair — oh,  it  was  not  fair  ?  If  she  wished  to  kill  my  heart, 
there  were  other  things  to  say  than  that.  Why,  sweetheart, 
don't  you  know  that  I  got  the  little  English  boy  out  of  the 
water  ;  and  you  think  I  would  let  you  drown  !  If  we  were 
both  drowning  now,  do  you  know  what  I  should  do  ?  I  should 
laugh,  and  say,  "  Sweetheart,  sweetheart,  if  we  were  not  to 
be  together  in  life,  we  are  now  in  death,  and  that  is  enough 
for  me." 

What  is  the  slow  sad  sound  that  one  hears  ?  The  grave 
is  on  the  lonely  island  ;  there  is  no  one  left  on  the  island 
now  ;  there  is  nothing  but  the  grave.  "  Man  that  is  born  of 
a  woman  hath  hut  a  short  time  to  live,  and  is  full  of  misery,'* 
Oh  no,  not  that !  That  is  all  over ;  the  miseiy  is  over,  and 
there  is  peace.  This  is  the  sound  of  the  sea-birds,  and  the 
wind  coming  over  the  seas,  and  the  waves  on  the  rocks.  Or 
is  it  Donald,  in  the  boat  going  back  to  the  land  ?  The  people 
have  their  heads  bent ;  it  is  a  Lament  the  boy  is  playing. 
And  how  will  you  play  the  Cumhadh  na  Cloinne  to-night, 
Donald  ? — and  what  will  the  mother  say  ?  It  is  six  sons  she 
has  to  think  of  now ;  and  Patrick  Mor  had  but  seven  dead 
when  he  wrote  the  Lament  of  the  Children.  Janet,  see  to 
her  !  Tell  her  it  is  no  matter  now  ;  the  peace  has  come ;  the 
misery  is  over ;  there  is  only  the  quiet  sound  of  the  waves. 


326  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

But  you,  Donald,  come  here.  Put  down  your  pipes,  and  lis- 
ten. Do  you  remember  the  English  lady  who  was  here  in  the 
summer-time  ;  and  your  pipes  were  too  loud  for  her,  and  were 
taken  away?  She  is  coming  again.  She  will  try  to  put  hei 
foot  on  my  grave.  But  you  will  watch  for  her  coming,  Don 
aid ;  and  you  will  go  quickly  to  Hamish  ;  and  Hamish  will 
go  down  to  the  shore  and  send  her  back.  You  are  only  a  boy, 
Donald ;  she  would  not  heed  you  ;  and  the  ladies  at  the 
Castle  are  too  gentle,  and  would  give  her  fair  words ;  but 
Hamish  is  not  afraid  of  her — he  will  drive  her  back ;  she 
shall  not  put  her  foot  on  my  grave,  for  my  heart  can  bear  no 

more  pain. 

^  *  *  *  *  m  * 

And  are  you  going  away — Rose-leaf— Rose-leaf— zx^  you 
sailing  away  from  me  on  the  smooth  waters  to  the  South  ?  I 
put  out  my  hand  to  you ;  but  ygu  are  afraid  of  the  hard 
hands  of  the  Northern  people,  and  you  shrink  from  me.  Do 
you  think  we  would  harm  you,  then,  that  you  tremble  so  ? 
The  savage  days  are  gone.  Come — we  will  show  you  the 
beautiful  islands  in  the  summer-time  ;  and  you  will  take  high 
courage,  and  become  yourself  a  Macleod  ;  and  all  the  people 
will  be  proud  to  hear  of  Fionaghal,  the  Fair  Stranger,  who 
has  come  to  make  her  home  among  us.  Oh,  our  hands  are 
gentle  enough  when  it  is  a  Rose-leaf  they  have  to  touch. 
There  was  blood  on  them  in  the  old  days ;  we  have  washed 
it  off  now  :  see — this  beautiful  red  rose  you  have  given  me 
is  not  afraid  of  rough  hands  !  We  have  no  beautiful  roses 
to  give  you,  but  we  will  give  you  a  piece  of  white  heather, 
and  that  will  secure  to  you  peace  and  rest  and  a  happy  heart 
all  your  days.  You  will  not  touch  it,  sweetheart  t  Do  not 
be  afraid  1  There  is  no  adder  in  it.  But  if  you  were  to  find, 
now,  a  white  adder,  would  you  know  what  to  do  with  it  ? 
There  was  a  sweetheart  in  an  old  song  knew  what  to  do  with 
an  adder.  Do  you  know  the  song  ?  The  young  man  goes 
back  to  his  home,  and  he  says  to  his  mother,  "  Oh  make  my 
bed  soon ;  for  I'm  weary,  weary  hunting,  and  fain  would  lie 
doon."  Why  do  you  turn  so  pale,  sweetheart  ?  There  is  the 
whiteness  of  a  white  adder  in  your  cheeks ;  and  your  eyes — 
there  is  death  in  your  eyes  !  Donald  ! — Hamish  !  help  ! 
help  l^her  foot  is  coming  near  to  my  grave  ! — my  heart — !  " 

And  so,  in  a  paroxysm  of  wild  terror  and  pain,  he  awoke 
again  ;  and  behold,  the  ghastly  white  daylight  was  in  the 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


327 


room — the  cold  glare  of  a  day  he  would  fain  have  never  seen  ! 
It  was  all  in  a  sort  of  dream  that  this  haggard-faced  man 
dressed,  and  drank  a  cup  of  tea,  and  got  outside  into  the 
rain,  Tne  rain,  and  the  noise  of  the  cabs,  and  the  gloom  of 
London  skies ;  these  harsh  and  commonplace  things  were 
easier  to  bear  than  the  dreams  of  the  sick  biain.  And  then, 
somehow  or  other,  he  got  his  way  down  to  Aldershot,  and 
sought  out  Norman  Ogilvie. 

"  Macleod !  "  Ogilvie  cried — startled  beyond  measure  by 
his  appearance. 

"  I — I  wanted  to  shake  hands  with  you,  Ogilvie,  before  I 
am  going,"  said  this  hollow-eyed  man,  who  seemed  to  have 
grown  old. 

Ogilvie  hesitated  for  a  second  or  two  ;  and  then  he  said, 
vehemently, — 

"  Well,  Macleod,  I  am  not  a  sentimental  chap — but — but 
— hang  it !  it  is  too  bad.  And  again  and  again  I  have 
thought  of  writing  to  you,  as  your  friend,  just  within  the  last 
week  or  so  ;  and  then  I  said  to  myself  that  tale-bearing  never 
came  to  any  good.  But  she  won't  darken  Mrs.  Ross's  door 
again — that  I  know.  Mrs.  Ross  went  straight  to  her  the 
other  day.  There  is  no  nonsense  about  that  woman.  And 
when  she  got  to  understand  that  the  story  was  true,  she  let 
Miss  White  know  that  she  considered  you  to  be  a  friend  of 
hers,  and  that — well,  you  know  how  women  give  hints — " 

"  But  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Ogilvie  !  "  he  cried, 
quite  bewildered.  "  Is  it  a  thing  for  all  the  world  to  know  ? 
What  story  is  it — when  I  knew  nothing  till  yesterday  .?  " 

"  Well,  you  know  now :  I  saw  by  your  face  a  minute  ago 
that  she  had  told  you  the  truth  at  last,"  Ogilvie  said.  "  Mac- 
leod, don't  blame  me.  When  I  heard  of  her  being  about  to 
be  married,  I  did  not  believe  the  story — " 

Macleod  sprang  at  him  like  a  tiger,  and  caught  his  arm 
with  the  grip  of  a  vise. 

*'  Her  getting  married  ? — to  whom  ?  " 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  ? "  Ogilvie  said,  with  his  eyes 
staring.  "  Oh  yes,  you  must  know.  I  see  you  know  !  Why, 
the  look  in  your  face  when  you  came  into  this  room — " 

"  Who  is  the  man,  Ogilvie  ?  " — and.  there  was  the  sudden 
hate  of  ten  thousand  devils  in  his  eyes. 

"  Why,  it  is  that  artist  fellow — Lemuel.  You  don't  mean 
to  say  she  hasn't  told  you  .?  It  is  the  common  story  !  And 
Mrs.  Ross  thought  it  was  only  a  piece  of  nonsense — she 
said  they  were  always  making  out  those  stories  about  act- 


328  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

resses — but  she  went  to  Miss  White.  And  when  Miss  White 
could  not  deny  it,  Mrs.  Ross  said  there  and  then  they  had 
better  let  their  friendship  drop.  Macleod,  I  would  have 
written  to  you — upon  my  soul,  I  would  have  written  to  you 
— but  how  could  I  imagine  you  did  not  know  ?  And  do  you 
really  mean  to  say  she  has  not  told  you  anything  of  what 
has  been  going  on  recently — what  was  well  known  to  every- 
body .? " 

And  this  young  man  spoke  in  a  passion,  too  ;  Keith  Mac- 
leod was  his  friend.  But  Macleod  himself  seemed,  with 
some  powerful  effort  of  will,  to  have  got  the  better  of  his 
sudden  and  fierce  hate  ;  he  sat  down  again  ;  he  spoke  in  a 
low  voice,  but  there  was  a  dark  look  in  his  eyes. 

"  No,"  said  he,  slowly,  "  she  has  not  told  me  all  about  it. 
Well,  she  did  tell  me  about  a  poor  creature — a  woman-man 
— a  thing  of  affectation,  with  his  paint-box  and  his  velvet 
coat,  and  his  furniture.  Ogilvie,  have  you  got  any  brandy .?  " 

Ogilvie  rang,  and  got  some  brandy,  some  water,  a  tum- 
bler, and  a  wineglass  placed  on  the  table.  Macleod,  with  a 
hand  that  trembled  violently,  filled  the  tumbler  half  full  of 
brandy. 

"  And  she  could  not  deny  the  story  to  Mrs.  Ross  ? "  said 
he,  vv^ith  a  strange  and  hard  smile  on  his  face.  "  It  was  her 
modesty.  Ah,  you  don't  know,  Ogilvie,  what  an  exalted  soul 
she  has.  She  is  full  of  idealisms.  She  could  not  explain  all 
that  to  Mrs.  Ross.  /know.  And  when  she  found  herself 
too  weak  to  carry  out  her  aspirations,  she  sought  help.  Is 
that  it  ?  She  would  gain  assurance  and  courage  from  the 
woman-man  ?  " 

He  pushed  the  tumbler  away ;  his  hand  was  still  trem- 
bling violently. 

"  I  will  not  touch  that  Ogilvie,"  said  he,  "  for  I  have  not 
much  mastery  over  myself.  I  am  going  away  now — I  am  go- 
ing back  now  to  the  Highlands — oh  !  you  do  not  know  what 
I  have  become  since  I  met  that  woman — a  coward  and  a  liai  I 
They  wouldn't  have  you  sit  down  at  the  mess-table,  Ogilvie, 
if  you  were  that,  would  they  t  I  dare  not  stay  in  London 
now.  I  must  run  away  now — like  a  hare  that  is  hunted.  It 
would  not  be  good  for  her  or  for  me  that  I  should  stay  any 
longer  in  London." 

He  rose  and  held  out  his  hand ;  there  was  a  curious 
glazed  look  on  his  eyes.  Ogilvie  pressed  him  back  into  the 
chair  again. 

.  "  You  are  not  going  out  in  this  condition,  Macleod  ?— 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  329 

you  don't  know  what  you  arc  doing  !  Come  now,  let  us  be 
reasonable ;  let  us  talk  over  the  thing  like  men.  And  I 
must  say,  first  of  all,  that  I  am  heartily  glad  of  it,  for  your 
sake  It  will  be  a  hard  twist  at  first ;  but,  bless  you  !  lots  of 
fellows  have  had  to  fight  through  the  same  thing,  and  they 
come  up  smiling  after  it,  and  you  would  scarcely  know  the 
difference.  Don't  imagine  I  am  surprised — oh  no.  I  never  | 
did  believe  in  that  young  woman  ;  I  thought  she  was  a  deuced  j 
sight  too  clever;  and  when  she  used  to  go  about  humbugging ; 
this  one  and  the  other  with  her  innocent  airs,  I  said  to  my-: 
self,  '  Oh,  it's  all  very  well :  but  you  know  what  you  are ; 
about.'  Of  course  there  was  no  use  talking  to  you.  I  believe 
at  one  time  Mrs.  Ross  was  considering  the  point  whether  she 
ought  not  to  give  you  a  hint — seeing  that  you  had  met  Miss 
White  first  at  her  house — that  the  young  lady  was  rather 
clever  at  flirtation,  and  that  you  ought  to  keep  a  sharp  lookout. 
But  then  you  would  only  have  blazed  up  in  anger.  It  was 
no  use  talking  to  you.  And  then,  after  all,  I  said  that  if  you 
were  so  bent  on  marrying  her,  the  chances  were  that  you 
would  have  no  difficulty,  for  I  thought  the  bribe  of  her  being 
called  Lady  Macleod  would  be  enough  for  any  actress.  As 
for  this  man  Lemuel,  no  doubt  he  is  a  very  great  man,  as 
people  say ;  but  I  don't  know  much  about  these  things  my- 
self ;  and — and — I  think  it  is  very  plucky  of  Mrs.  Ross  to  cut 
ofl  two  of  her  lions  at  one  stroke.  It  shows  she  must  have 
taken  an  uncommon  liking  for  you.  So  you  must  cheer  up, 
Macleod.  If  woman  take  a  fancy  to  you  like  that,  you'll  eas- 
ily get  a  better  wife  than  Miss  White  would  have  made. 
Mind  you,  I  don't  go  back  from  anything  I  ever  said  of  her. 
She  is  a  handsome  woman,  and  no  mistake  ;  and  I  will  say 
that  she  is  the  best  waltzer  that  I  ever  met  with  in  the  whole 
course  of  my  life — without  exception.  But  she's  the  sort  of 
woman  who,  if  I  married  her,  would  want  some  looking  after 
— I  mean,  that  is  my  impression.  The  fact  is,  Macleod,  away 
there  in  Mull  you  have  been  brought  up  too  much  on  books 
and  your  own  imagination.  You  were  ready  to  believe  any 
pretty  woman,  with  soft  English  ways,  an  angeL  Well,  you 
have  had  a  twister  ;  but  you'll  come  through  it ;  and  you  will 
get  to  believe,  after  all,  that  women  are  very  good  creatures 
just  as  men  are  very  good  creatures,  when  you  get  the  right 
sort.  Come  now,  Macleod,  pull  yourself  together;  Perhaps 
I  have  just  as  hard  an  opinion  of  her  conduct  towards  you  as 
you  have  yourself.  But  you  know  what  Tommy  Moore,  or 
some  fellow  like  that  says — '  Though  she  be  not  fair  to  mC; 


330  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

what  the  devil  care  I  how  fair  she  be  ? '     And  if  I  were  you, 
I  would  have  a  drop  of  brandy — but  not  half  a  tumblerful." 

But  neither  Lieutenant  Ogilvie's  pert  common-sense,  nor 
his  apt  and  accurate  quotation,  nor  the  proffered  brandy, 
seemed  to  alter  much  the  mood  of  this  haggard-faced  man. 
He  rose. 

"  I  think  I  am  going  now,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice.  "  You 
won't  take  it  unkindly,  Ogilvie,  that  I  don't  stop  to  talk  with 
you  :  it  is  a  strange  story  you  have  told  me — I  want  time  to 
think  over  it.     Good-by  !  " 

"  The  fact  is,  Macleod,"  Ogilvie  stammered,  as  he  re- 
garded his  friend's  face,  "  1  don't  like  to  leave  you.  Won't 
you  stay  and  dine  with  our  fellows  t  or  shall  I  see  if  X  can 
run  up  to  London  with  you  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,  Ogilvie,"  said  he.  "  And  have  you  any 
message  for  the  mother  and  Janet?  " 

"  Oh,  I  hope  you  will  remember  me  most  kindly  to  them. 
At  least,  I  will  go  to  the  station  with  you,  Macleod." 

•'  Thank  you,  Ogilvie  ;  but  I  would  rather  go  alone.  Good- 
by,  now." 

He  shook  hands  with  his  friend,  in  an  absent  sort  of  way, 
and  left.  But  while  yet  his  hand  was  on  the  door,  he  turned 
and  said, — 

"  Oh,  do  you  remember  my  gun  that  has  the  shot  barrel 
and  the  rifle  barrel  1 " 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

"  And  would  you  like  to  have  that,  Ogilvie  ? — we  some- 
times had  it  when  we  were  out  together." 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  take  your  gun  from  you,  Mac- 
leod ?  "  said  the  other.  "  And  you  will  soon  have  plenty  of 
use  for  it  now." 

"  Good-by,  then,  Ogilvie,"  said  he,  and  he  left,  and 
went  out  into  the  world  of  rain,  and  lowering  skies,  and 
darkening  moors. 

And  when  he  went  back  to  Dare  it  was  a  wet  day  also  ; 
but  he  was  very  cheerful ;  and  he  had  a  friendly  word  for 
all  whom  he  met;  and  he  told  the  mother  and  Janet  that  he 
had  got  home  at  last,  and  meant  to  go  no  more  a-roving. 
But  that  evening,  after  dinner,  when  Donald  began  to  play 
the  Lament  for  the  memory  of  the  five  sons  of  Dare,  Mac- 
leod gave  a  sort  of  stifled  cry,  and  there  were  tears  running 
down  his  cheeks — which  was  a  strange  thing  for  a  man  ;  and 
he  rose  and  left  the  hall,  just  as  a  woman  would  have  done. 
And  his  mother  sat  there,  cold,   and  pale,  and  trembling; 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


ZZ^ 


but  the  gentle  cousin  Janet  called  out,  with  a  piteous  trouble 
in  her  eyes, — 

"  Oh,  auntie,  have  you  seen  the  look  on  our  Keith's  face, 
ever  since  he  came  ashore  to-day  ?  " 

"  I  know  it,  Janet,"  said  she.  "  I  have  seen  it.  That 
woman  has  broken  his  heart ;  and  he  is  the  last  of  my  six 
brave  lads !  " 

They  could  not  speak  any  more  now ;  for  Donald  had 
come  up  the  hall ;  and  he  was  playing  the  wild,  sad  wail  of 
the  Cumhadh-na-Cloinne. 


CHAPTER   XLI. 

A   LAST   HOPE. 


Those  sleepless  nights  of  passionate  yearning  and  de- 
spair— those  days  of  sullen  gloom,  broken  only  by  wild  crav- 
ings for  revenge  that  went  through  his  brain  like  spasms  of 
fire — these  were  killing  this  man.  His  face  grew  haggard 
and  gray  ;  his  eyes  morose  and  hopeless  ;  he  shunned  people 
as  if  he  feared  their  scrutiny ;  he  brooded  over  the  past  in  a 
silence  he  did  not  wish  to  have  broken  by  any  human  voice. 
This  was  no  longer  Macleod  of  Dare.  It  was  the  wreck  of 
a  man — drifting  no  one  knew  whither. 

And  in  those  dark  and  morbid  reveries  there  was  no 
longer  any  bewilderment.  He  saw  clearly  how  he  had  been 
tricked  and  played  with.  He  understood  now  the  coldness 
she  had  shown  on  coming  to  Dare ;  her  desire  to  get  away 
again ;  her  impatience  with  his  appeals  ;  her  anxiety  that 
communication  between  them  should  be  solely  by  letter. 
"  Yes,  yes,"  he  would  say  to  himself — and  sometimes  he 
would  laugh  aloud  in  the  solitude  of  the  hills,  "  she  was 
prudent.  She  was  a  woman  of  the  world,  as  Stuart  used  to 
say,  She  wf)uld  not  quite  throw  me  off — she  would  not  be 
quite  frank  with  me — until  she  had  made  sure  of  the  other. 
And  in  her  trouble  of  doubt,  when  she  was  trying  to  be  bet- 
ter than  herself,  and  anxious  to  have  guidance,  that  was  the 
guide  she  turned  to — the  y/oman-man,  the  dabbler  in  paint* 
boxes,  the  critic  of  carpets  and  wall-papers  ! " 

Sometimes  he  grew  to  hate  her.     She  had  destroyed  the 


2>Z-^ 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


world  for  him.  She  had  destroyed  his  faith  in  the  honesty 
and  honor  of  womanhood.  She  had  played  with  him  as  with 
a  toy — a  fancy  of  the  brain — and  thrown  him  aside  when 
something  new  was  presented  to  her.  And  when  a  man  is 
stung  by  a  white  adder,  does  he  not  turn  and  stam.p  with  his 
heel  .'*  Is  he  not  bound  to  crush  the  creature  out  of  existence, 
to  keep  God's  earth  and  the  free  sunlight  sweet  and  pure  ? 

But  then — but  then — the  beauty  of  her  !  In  dreams  he 
heard  her  low,  sweet  laugh  again  ;  he  saw  the  beautiful 
brown  hair;  he  surrendered  to  the  irresistible  witchery  of 
the  clear  and  lovely  eyes.  What  would  not  a  man  give  for 
one  last,  wild  kiss  of  the  laughing  and  half-parted  lips  ?  His 
life  .?  And  if  that  life  happened  to  be  a  mere  broken  and 
useless  thing — a  hateful  thing — would  he  not  gladly  and 
proudly  fling  it  away  t  One  long,  lingering,  despairing  kiss, 
and  then  a  deep  draught  of  Death's  black  wine  ! 

One  day  he  was  riding  down  to  the  fishing-station,  when 
he  met  John  Macintyre,  the  postman,  who  handed  him  a 
letter,  and  passed  on.  Macleod  opened  this  letter  with 
some  trepidation,  for  it  was  from  London  ;  but  it  was  in 
Norman  Ogilvie's  handwriting. 

"  Dear  Macleod, — I  thought  you  might  like  to  hear  the 
latest  news.  I  cut  the  enclosed  from  a  sort  of  half-sporting, 
half-theatrical  paper  our  fellows  get ;  no  doubt  the  paragraph 
is  true  enough.  And  I  wish  it  was  well  over  and  done  with, 
and  she  married  out  of  hand ;  for  I  know  until  that  is  so  you 
will  be  torturing  yourself  with  all  sorts  of  projects  and  fan- 
cies. Good-by  old  fellow.  I  suppose  when  you  offered  me 
the  gun,  you  thought  your  life  had  collapsed  altogether,  and 
that  you  would  have  no  further  use  for  anything.  But  no 
doubt,  after  the  first  shock,  you  have  thought  better  of  that. 
How  are  the  birds  ?  I  hear  rather  bad  accounts  from  Ross, 
but  then  he  is  always  complaining  about  something. 

Yours  sincerely,  Norman  Ogilvie. 

And  then  he  unfolded  the  newspaper  cutting  which  Ogil- 
vie had  enclosed.  The  paragraph  of  gossip  announced  that 
the  Piccadilly  Theatre  would  shortly  be  closed  for  repairs ; 
but  that  the  projected  provincial  tour  of  the  company  had 
been  abandoned.  On  the  re-opening  of  the  theatre,  a  play, 
which  was  now  in  preparation,  written  by  Mr.  Gregory  Lem- 
uel, would  be  produced.  "  It  is  understood,"  continued  the 
newsman,  "  that  Miss  Gertrude  White,  the  young  and  gifted 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  333 

actress  Vv'ho  has  been  the  chief  attraction  at  the  Piccadilly 
Theatre  for  two  years  back,  is  shortly  to  be  married  to  Mr. 
L.  Lemuel,  the  well-known  artist ;  but  the  public  have  no 
reason  to  fear  the  withdrawal  from  the  stage  of  so  popular  a 
favorite,  for  she  has  consented  to  take  the  chief  role  in  the 
new  play,  which  is  said  to  be  of  a  tragic  nature." 

Macleod  put  the  letter  and  its  enclosure  into  his  pocket, 
and  rode  on.  The  hand  that  held  the  bridle  shook  some- 
what ;  that  was  all. 

He  met  Hamish. 

"  Oh,  Hamish  !  "  he  cried,  quite  gayly.  "  Hamish,  will 
you  go  to  the  wedding  ?  " 

"What  wedding,  sir?"  said  the  old  man;  but  welt  he 
knew.  If  there  was  any  one  blind  to  what  had  been  going 
on,  that  was  not  Hamish ;  and  again  and  again  he  had  in  his 
heart  cursed  the  English  traitress  who  had  destroyed  his 
master's  peace. 

"  Why,  do  you  not  remember  the  English  lady  that  was 
here  not  so  long  ago  ?  And  she  is  going  to  be  married. 
And  would  you  like  to  go  to  the  wedding,  Hamish  !  " 

He  scarcely  seemed  to  know  what  he  was  saying  in  this 
wild  way  ;  there  was  a  strange  look  in  his  eyes,  though  appa- 
rently he  was  very  merry.  And  this  was  the  first  word  he 
had  uttered  about  Gertrude  White  to  any  living  being  at  Dare 
ever  since  his  last  return  from  the  South. 

Now  what  was  Hamish's  answer  to  this  gay  invitation  ? 
The  Gaelic  tongue  is  almost  devoid  of  those 'meaningless  ex- 
pletives which,  in  other  languages,  express  .mere  annoyance 
of  temper ;  when  a  Highlander  swears,  he  usually  swears  in 
English.  But  the  Gaelic  curse  is  a  much  more  solemn  and 
deliberate  affair. 

"  May  her  soul  diuell  in  the  lowermost  hall  of  perdition  /" 
— that  was  the  answer  that  Hamish  made  ;  and  there  was  a 
blaze  of  anger  in  the  keen  eyes  and  in  the  proud  and  hand 
some  face. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  continued  the  old  man,  in  his  native  tongue, 
and  he  spoke  rapidly  and  passionately,  "  I  am  only  a  serving- 
man,  and  perhaps  a  serving-man  ought  not  to  speak  ;  but 
perhaps  sometimes  he  will  speak.  And  have  I  not  seen  it 
all,  Sir  Keith  ? — and  no  more  of  the  pink  letters  coming ; 
and  you  going  about  a  changed  man,  as  if  there  was  nothing 
more  in  life  for  you  ?  And  now  you  ask  me  if  I  will  go  to 
the  v/edding  ?     And  what  do  I  say  to  you,  Sir  Keith  ?    I  say 


334  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

this  to  you — that  the  woman  is  not  now  living  who  will  put 
that  shame  on  Macleod  of  Dare  !  " 

Macleod  regarded  the  old  man's  angry  vehemence  almost 
indifferently ;  he  had  grown  to  pay  little  heed  to  anything 
around  him. — 

"  Oh  yes,  it  is  a  fine  thing  for  the  English  lady,"  said 
Hamish,  with  the  same  proud  fierceness,  "  to  come  here  and 
amuse  herself.  But  she  does  not  know  the  Mull  men  yet. 
Do  you  think,  Sir  Keith,  that  any  one  of  your  forefathers 
would  have  had  this  shame  put  upon  him  ?  I  think  not.  I 
think  he  would  have  said,  '  Come,  lads,  here  is  a  proud 
madam  that  does  not  know  that  a  man's  will  is  stronger  than 
a  wdman's  will ;  and  we  will  teach  her  a  lesson.  And  before 
she  has  learned  that  lesson,  she  will  discover  that  it  is  not 
safe  to  trifle  with  a  Macleod  of  Dare.'  And  you  ask  me  if 
I  will  go  to  the  wedding  !  I  have  known  you  since  you  were 
a  child,  Sir  Keith;  and  I  put  the  first  gun  in  your  hand;  and 
I  saw  you  catch  your  first  salmon  :  it  is  not  right  to  laugh  at 
an  old  man." 

"  Laughing  at  you  Hamish  ?  I  gave  you  an  invitation  to 
a  wedding  !  " 

"  And  if  I  was  going  to  that  wedding,"  said  Hamish,  with 
a  return  of  that  fierce  light  to  the  gray  eyes,  "  do  you  know 
how  I  would  go  to  the  wedding  ?  I  would  take  two  or  three 
of  the  young  lads  with  me.  We  would  make  a  fine  party  for 
the  wedding.  Oh  yes,  a  fine  party !  And  if  the  English 
church  is  a  fine  church,  can  we  not  take  off  our  caps  as  well 
as  any  one  .?  But  when  the  pretty  madam  came  in,  I  would 
say  to  myself,  '  Oh  yes,  my  fine  madam,  you  forgot  it  was  a 
Macleod  you  had  to  deal  with,  and  not  a  child,  and  you  did 
not  think  you  would  have  a  visit  from  two  or  three  of  the 
Mull  lads  ! " 

"  And  what  then  ? "  Macleod  said,  with  a  smile,  though 
this  picture  of  his  sweetheart  coming  into  the  church  as  the 
bride  of  another  man  had  paled  his  cheek. 

"  And  before  she  had  brought  that  shame  on  the  house 
of  Dare,"  said  Hamish,  excitedly,  "  do  you  not  think  that  I 
would  seize  her — that  I  would  seize  her  with  my  own  hands  \ 
And  when  the  young  lads  and  I  had  thrust  her  down  into  the 
cabin  of  the  yacht — oh  yes,  when  we  had  thrust  her  down 
and  put  the  hatch  over,  do  you  think  the  proud  madam  would 
be  quite  so  proud  t  " 

Macleod  laughed  a  loud  laugh. 

"  Why,  Hamish,  you  want  to  become  a  famous  person  I 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


335 


You  would  carry  off  a  popular  actress,  and  have  all  the  coun- 
try ringing  with  the  exploit !  And  would  you  have  a  piper, 
too,  to  drown  her  screams — ^just  as  Macdonald  of  Armadale 
did  when  he  came  with  his  men  to  South  Uist  and  carried 
off  Flora  Macdonald's  mother  ?  " 

"  And  was  there  ever  a  better  marriage  than  that — as  I 
have  heard  many  a  man  of  Skye  say  ?  "  Hamish  exclaimed, 
eagerly.  "  Oh  yes,  it  is  good  for  a  woman  to  know  that  a 
man's  will  is  stronger  than  a  woman's  will !  And  when  we 
have  the  fine  English  madam  caged  up  in  the  cabin,  and  we 
are  coming  away  to  the  North  again,  she  will  not  have  so 
many  fine  airs,  I  think.  And  if  the  will  cannot  be  broken, 
it  is  the  neck  that  can  be  broken  ;  and  better  that  than  that 
Sir  Keith  Macleod  should  have  a  shame  put  on  him." 

"  Hamish,  Hamish,  how  will  you  dare  to  go  into  the  church 
at  Salen  next  Sunday  ?  "  Macleod  said  ;  but  he  was  now  re- 
garding the  old  man  with  a  strange  curiosity. 

"  Men  were  made  before  churches  were  thought  of," 
Hamish  said,  curtly ;  and  then  Macleod  laughed,  and  rode 
on. 

The  laugh  soon  died  away  from  his  face.  Here  was  the 
stone  bridge  on  whieh  she  used  to  lean  to  drop  pebbles  into 
the  whirling  clear  water.  Was  there  not  some  impression 
even  yet  of  her  soft  warm  arm  on  the  velvet  moss  ?  And 
what  had  the  voice  of  the  streamlet  told  him  in  the  days  long 
ago — that  the  summertime  was  made  for  happy  lovers  ;  that 
she  was  coming  ;  that  he  should  take  her  hand  and  show  her 
the  beautiful  islands  and  the  sunlit  seas  before  the  darkening 
skies  of  the  winter  came  over  them.  And  here  was  the 
summer  sea ;  and  moist,  warm  odors  were  in  the  larch-wood  ; 
and  out  there  Ulva  was  shining  green,  and  there  was  sun- 
light on  the  islands  and  on  the  rocks  of  Erisgeir.  But  she 
— where  was  she  ?  Perhaps  standing  before  a  mirror  ;  with 
a  dress  all  of  white  ;  and  trying  how  orange-blossoms  would 
best  lie  in  her  soft  brown  hair.  Her  arms  are  uplifted  to  her 
head  ;  she  smiles  :  could  not  one  suddenly  seize  her  now  by 
the  waist  and  bear  her  off,  with  the  smile  changed  to  a 
blanched  look  of  fear  ?  The  wild  pirates  have  got  her  ;  the 
Rose-leaf  is  crushed  in  the  cruel  Northern  hands  ;  at  last — 
at  last — what  is  in  the  scabbard  has  been  drawn,  and  de- 
clared, and  she  screams  in  her  terror  ! 

Then  he  fell  to  brooding  again  over  Hamish's  mad 
scheme.  The  fine  English  church  of  Hamish's  imagination 
was  no  doubt  a  little  stone  building  that  a  handful  of  sailors 


336  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

could  carry  at  a  rush.  And  of  course  the  yacht  must  need? 
be  close  by ;  for  there  was  no  land  in  Hamish's  mind  that 
was  out  of  sight  of  the  salt-water.  And  what  consideration 
would  this  old  man  have  for  delicate  fancies  and  studies  in 
moral  science  ?  The  fine  madam  had  been  chosen  to  be  tht 
bride  of  Macleod  of  Dare ;  that  was  enough.  If  her  will 
would  not  bend,  it  would  have  to  be  broken  ;  that  was  the 
good  old  way.  Was  there  ever  a  happier  wife  than  the  Lady 
of  Armadale,  who  had  been  carried  screaming  dov/nstairs  in 
the  night-time,  and  placed  in  her  lover's  boat,  with  the  pipes 
playing  a  wild  pibroch  all  the  time  ? 

Macleod  was  in  the  library  that  night  when  Hamish  came 
to  him  with  some  papers.  And  just  as  the  old  man  was 
about  to  leave,  Macleod  said  to  him, — 

"  Well,  that  was  a  pretty  story  you  told  me  this  morning, 
Hamish,  about  the  carrying  off  the  young  English  lady.  And 
have  you  thought  any  more  about  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  thought  enough  about  it,"  Hamish  said,  in  his 
native  tongue. 

"  Then  perhaps  you  could  tell  me,  when  you  start  on  this 
fine  expedition,  how  you  are  going  to  have  the  yacht  taken 
to  London  1  The  lads  of  Mull  are  very  clever,  Hamish,  I 
know  ;  but  do  you  think  that  any  one  of  them  can  steer  the 
Umpire  all  the  way  from  Loch-na-Keal  to  the  river  Thames  ?  " 

"  Is  it  the  river  Thames  ?  "  said  Hamish,  with  great  con- 
tempt. "  And  is  that  all — the  river  Thames  ?  Do  you  know 
this,  Sir  Keith,  that  my  cousin  Colin  Laing,  that  has  a 
whiskey-shop  now  in  Greenock,  has  been  all  over  the  world, 
and  at  China  and  other  places  ;  and  he  was  the  mate  of  many 
a  big  vessel ;  and  do  you  think  he  could  not  take  the  Um- 
pire from  Loch-na-Keal  to  London  ?  And  I  would  only  have 
to  send  a  line  to  him  and  say,  '  Colin,  it  is  Sir  Keith  Mac- 
leod himself  that  will  want  you  to  do  this  ; '  and  then  he  will 
leave  twenty  or  thirty  shops,  ay,  fifty  and  a  hundred  shops, 
and  think  no  more  of  them  at  all.  Oh  yes,  it  is  very  true 
what  you  say  Sir  Keith.  There  is  no  one  knov/s  better 
than  I  the  soundings  in  Loch  Scridain  and  Loch  Tua ; 
and  you  have  said  yourself  that  there  is  not  a  bank  or  a  rock 
about  the  islands  that  I  do  not  know ;  but  I  have  not  been 
to  London — no,  I  have  not  been  to  London.  But  is  there 
any  great  trouble  in  getting  to  London  ?  No,  none  at  all, 
when  we  have  Colin  Laing  on  board." 

Macleod  was  apparently  making  a  gay  joke  of  the  mat- 
ter ;  but  there  was  an  anxious,  intense  look  in  his  eyes  all 


maclkod  of  dare.  337 

the  same — even  when  he  was  staring  absently  at  the  table 
before  him. 

"  Oh  yes,  Hamish,"  he  said,  laughing  in  a  constrained 
manner,  "  that  would  be  a  fine  story  to  tell.  And  you  would 
become  very  famous — just  as  if  you  were  working  for  fame 
in  a  theatre  ;  and  all  the  people  would  be  talking  about  you. 
And  when  you  got  to  London,  how  would  you  get  through 
the  London  streets  ?  " 

"  It  is  my  cousin  who  would  show  me  the  way  :  has  he 
not  been  to  London  more  times  than  I  have  been  to  Storno- 
way  1 " 

"  But  the  streets  of  London — they  would  cover  all  the 
ground  between  here  and  Loch  Scridain ;  and  how  would 
you  carry  the  young  lady  through  them  ?  " 

"  We  would  carry  her,"  said  Hamish,  curtly. 

"  With  the  bagpipes  to  drown  her  screams  ?  " 

"  I  would  drown  her  screams  myself,"  said  Hamish,  with 
a  sudden  savageness ;  and  he  added  something  that  Mac- 
leod  did  not  hear. 

"  Do  you  know  that  I  am  a  magistrate,  Hamish  \  " 

"  I  know  it.  Sir  Keith." 

"  And  when  you  come  to  me  with  this  proposal,  do  you 
know  what  I  should  do  ?  " 

"  I  know  what  the  old  Macleods  of  Dare  would  have 
done,"  said  Hamish,  proudly,  "  before  they  let  this  shame 
come  on  them.  And  you,  Sir  ^eith — you  are  a  Macleod, 
too  ;  ay,  and  the  bravest  lad  that  ever  was  born  in  Castle 
Dare !  And  you  will  not  suffer  this  thing  any  longer,  Sir 
Keith  ;  for  it  is  a  sore  heart  I  have  from  the  morning  till 
the  night  ;  and  it  is  only  a  serving-man  that  I  am ;  but  some- 
times when  I  will  see  you  going  about — and  nothing  now 
cared  for,  but  a  great  trouble  on  your  face — oh,  then  I  say 
to  myself,  '  Hamish,  you  are  an  old  man,  and  you  have  not 
long  to  live  ;  but  before  you  die  you  will  teach  the  fine  Eng- 
lish madam  what  it  is  to  bring  a  shame  on  Sir  Keith  Mac- 
leod ! '  " 

"  Ah,  well,  good-night  now,  Hamish ;  I  am  tired,"  he 
said  ;  and  the  old  man  slowly  left. 

He  was  tired — if  one  might  judge  by  the  haggard  cheeks 
and  the  heavy  eyes ;  but  he  did  not  go  to  sleep.  He  did 
not  even  go  to  bed.  He  spent  the  livelong  night,  as  he  had 
spent  too  many  lately,  in  nervously  pacing  to  and  fro  with- 
in this  hushed  chamber;  or  seated  with  his  arms  on  the 
table,  and  the   aching  head  resting  on  the   clasped  hands. 


338  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

And  again  those  wild  visions  came  to  torture  him — the  pro- 
duct of  a  sick  heart  and  a  bewildered  brain;  only  now  there 
was  a  new  element  introduced.  This  mad  project  of  Hamish's 
at  which  he  would  have  laughed  in  a  saner  mood,  began  to 
intertwist  itself  with  all  these  passionate  longings  and  these 
troubled  dreams  of  what  might  yet  be  possible  to  him  on 
earth  ;  and  wherever  he  turned  it  was  suggested  to  him  ;  and 
whatever  was  the  craving  and  desire  of  the  moment,  this, 
and  this  only,  was  the  way  to  reach  it.  For  if  one  were  mad 
with  pain,  and  determined  to  crush  the  white  adder  that  had 
stung  one,  what  better  way  than  to  seize  the  hateful  thing 
and  cage  it  so  that  it  should  do  no  more  harm  among  the 
sons  of  men  ?  Or  if  one  were  mad  because  of  the  love  of  a 
beautiful  white  Princess — and  she  far  away,  and  dressed  in 
bridal  robes  :  what  better  way  than  to  take  her  hand  and  say, 
*•  Quick,  quick,  to  the  shore  !  For  the  summer  seas  are 
waiting  for  you,  and  there  is  a  home  for  the  bride  far  away 
in  the  North  ?  "  Or  if  it  was  only  one  wild,  despairing  effort 
— one  last  means  of  trying — to  bring  her  heart  back  again  ? 
Or  if  there  was  but  the  one  fierce,  captured  kiss  of  those 
lips  no  longer  laughing  at  all  ?  Men  had  ventured  more  for 
far  less  reward,  surely  ?  And  what  remained  to  him  in  life 
but  this  t  There  was  at  least  the  splendid  joy  of  daring  and 
action  ! 

The  hours  passed  ;  and  sometimes  he  fell  into  a  troubled 
sleep  as  he  sat  with  his  head  bent  on  his  hands ;  but  then  it 
was  only  to  see  those  beautiful  pictures  of  her,  that  made  his 
heart  ache  all  the  more.  And  sometimes  he  saw  her  all  in 
sailor-like  white  and  blue,  as  she  was  stepping  down  from  the 
steamer  ;  and  sometimes  he  saw  the  merry  Duchess 
coming  forward  through  the  ballroom,  with  her  saucy  eyes 
and  her  laughing  and  parted  lips  ;  and  sometimes  he  saw  her 
before  a  mirror  ;  and  again  she  smiled — but  his  heart  would 
fain  have  cried  aloud  in  its  anguish.  Then  again  he  would 
start  up,  and  look  at  the  window.  Was  he  impatient  for  the 
day  ? 

The  lamp  still  burned  in  the  hushed  chamber.  With 
trembling  fingers  he  took  out  the  letter  Ogilvie  had  written 
to  him,  and  held  the  slip  of  printed  paper  before  his  bewildered 
gaze.  "  The  young  and  gifted  actress."  She  is  "  shortly  to 
be  married."  And  the  new  piece  that  all  the  world  will 
come  to  see,  as  soon  as  she  is  returned  from  her  wedding  tour, 
is  "  of  a  tragic  nature." 

*  *  *  *  *  *  * 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


339 


Hamish  !  Hamish  !  do  you  hear  these  things  ?  Do  you 
know  what  they  mean  ?  Oh,  we  will  have  to  look  sharp  if 
we  are  to  be  there  in  time.  Come  along,  you  brave  lads  !  it 
is  not  the  first  time  that  a  Macleod  has  carried  off  a  bride. 
And  will  she  cry,  do  you  think — for  we  have  no  pipes  to 
drown  her  screams  ?  Ah,  but  we  will  manage  it  another  way 
than  that,  Hamish  !  You  have  no  cunning,  you  old  man  ! 
There  will  be  no  scream  when  the  white  adder  is  seized  and 


caged. 
* 


But  surely  no  white  adder  ?     Oh,  sweetheart,  you  gave  me 

a  red  rose  !     And  do  you  remember  the  night  in  the  garden, 

with  the  moonlight  around  us,  and  the  favor  you  wore  next 

your  heart  was  the  badge  of  the  Macleods  ?     You  were  not 

afraid  of  the  Macleods  then  ;  you  had  no  fear  of  the  rude 

Northern  people ;  you   said   they  would   not  crush  a  pale 

Rose-leaf.     And  now — now — see  !  I  have  rescued  you  ;  and 

those  people  will  persuade  you  no  longer  :  I  have  taken  you 

away — you  are  free  !     And  will  you  come  up  on  deck  now, 

and  look  around  on  the  summer  sea  ?      And  shall  we  put  in 

to  some  port,  and  telegraph  that  the  runaway  bride  is  happy 

enough,  and  that  they  will  hear  of  her  next  from    Castle 

Dare  t     Look  around,  sweetheart  :  surely  you  know  the   old 

boat.     And  here  is  Christina  to  wait  on  you ;  and  Hamish 

— Hamish  will   curse  you  no  more — he   will  be  your  friend 

now.     Oh,  you  will  make  the  mother's  heart  glad  at  last ! 

she  has  not  smiled  for  many  a  day. 

******* 

Or  is  it  the  proud  madam  that  is  below,  Hamish  ;and 
she  will  not  speak ;  and  she  sits  alone  in  all  her  finery  ? 
And  what  are  we  to  do  with  her  now,  then,  to  break  her 
will  ?  Do  you  think  she  will  speak  when  she  is  in  the  midst 
of  the  silence  of  the  Northern  seas  ?  Or  will  they  be  after 
us,  Hamish  ?  Oh,  that  would  be  a  fine  chase,  indeed  !  and 
we  would  lead  them  a  fine  dance  through  the  Western  Isles  ; 
an  1  I  think  you  would  try  their  knowledge  of  the  channels 
and  the  banks.  And  the  painter-fellow,  Hamish,  the  woman- 
man,  the  dabbler — would  he  be  in  the  boat  behind  us  ?  or 
would  he  be  down  below,  in  bed  in  the  cabin,  with  a  nurse  to 
attend  him  ?  Come  along,  then  ! — but  beware  of  the  over- 
falls of  Tiree,  you  southern  men  !  Or  is  it  a  race  for  Barra 
Head  ;  and  who  will  be  at  Vatersay  first !  There  is  good 
fishing-ground  on  the  Sgriobh  bhan  ;  Hamish ;  th^y  may 
as  well  stop  to  fish  as  seek  to  catch  us  among  our  Western 


340  MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 

Isles  !  See,  the  dark  is  coming  down ;  are  these  the  Monach 
lights  in  the  north  ? — Hamish,  Hamish,  we  are  on  the  rocks  1 
— and  there  is  no  one  to  help  her  !  Oh,  sweetheart !  sweet- 
heart ! — 

The  brief  fit  of  struggling  sleep  is  over ;  he  rises  and 
goes  to  the  window ;  and  now,  if  he  is  impatient  for  the  new 
day,  behold  !  the  new  day  is  here.  Oh,  see  how  the  wan 
light  of  the  morning  meets  the  wan  face  !  It  is  the  face  of 
a  man  who  has  been  close  to  Death  ;  it  is  the  face  of  a  man 
who  is  desperate.  And  if,  after  the  terrible  battle  of  the 
night,  with  its  uncontrollable  yearning  and  its  unbearable 
pain,  the  fierce  and  bitter  resolve  is  taken  ? — if  there  remains 
but  this  one  last  despairing  venture  for  all  that  made  life 
worth  having  ?  How  wildly  the  drowning  man  clutches  at 
this  or  that,  so  only  that  he  may  breathe  for  yet  a  moment 
more  ?  He  knows  not  what  miracle  may  save  him ;  he 
knows  not  where  there  is  any  land ;  but  only  to  live — only 
to  breath  for  another  moment — that  is  his  cry.  And  then, 
mayhap,  amidst  the  wild  whirl  of  waves,  if  he  were  suddenly 
to  catch  sight  of  the  shore ;  and  think  that  he  was  getting 
near  to  that ;  and  see  awaiting  him  there  a  white  Princess, 
with  a  smile  on  her  lips  and  a  red  rose  in  her  outstretched 
hand.  Would  he  not  make  one  last  convulsive  eifort  before 
the  black  waters  dragged  him  down  ? 


MACLEOD  OP  DARE»  341 

CHAPTER  XLII. 

THE   WHITE-WINGED   DOVE. 

The  mere  thought  of  this  action,  swift,  immediate,  im- 
petuous, seemed  to  give  relief  to  the  burning  brain.  He 
went  outside,  and  walked  down  to  the  shore  ;  all  the  world 
was  asleep ;  but  the  day  had  broken  fair  and  pleasant,  and 
the  sea  was  calm  and  blue.  Was  not  that  a  good  omen  ? 
After-  all,  then,  there  was  still  the  wild,  glad  hope  that 
Fionaghal  might  come  and  live  in  her  Northern  home :  the 
summer  days  had  not  gone  forever;  they  might  still  find 
a  red  rose  for  her  bosom  at  Castle  Dare. 

And  then  he  tried  to  deceive  himself.  Was  not  this  a 
mere  lover's  stratagem.  Was  not  all  fair  in  love  as  in  war  t 
Surely  she  would  forgive  him,  for  the  sake  of  the  great  love 
he  bore  her,  and  the  happiness  he  would  try  to  bring  her  all 
the  rest  of  her  life  ?  And  no  sailor,  he  would  take  care, 
would  lay  his  rough  hand  on  her  gentle  arm.  That  was  the 
folly  of  Hamish.  There  was  no  chance,  in  these  days,  for  a 
band  of  Northern  pirates  to  rush  into  a  church  and  carry  off 
a  screaming  bride.  There  were  other  ways  than  that — • 
gentler  ways  ;  and  the  victim  of  the  conspiracy,  why,  she 
would  only  laugh  in  the  happy  after-time,  and  be  glad  that 
he  had  succeeded.  And  meanwhile  he  rejoiced  that  so 
much  had  to  be  done.  Oh  yes,  there  was  plenty  to  think 
'-^.bout  now,  other  than  these  terrible  visions  of  the  night. 
There  was  work  to  do  ;  and  the  cold  sea-air  was  cooling  the 
fevered  brain,  so  that  it  all  seemed  pleasant  and  easy  and  glad. 
There  was  Colin  Laing  to  be  summoned  from  Greenock, 
and  questioned.  The  yacht  had  to  be  provisioned  for  a  long 
voyage.  He  had  to  prepare  the  mother  and  Janet  for  his 
going  away.  And  might  not  Norman  Ogilvie  find  out  some- 
how when  the  marriage  was  to  be,  so  that  he  would  know 
how  much  time  was  left  him  ? 

But  with  all  this  eagerness  and  haste,  he  kept  whispering 
to  himself  counsels  of  caution  and  prudence.  He  dared  not 
awaken  her  suspicion  by  professing  too  much  forgiveness  01 
frier dliness.  He  wrote  to  her — with  what  a  trembling  nand 
he  put  down  those  words.  Dear  Gertrude,  on  paper,  and  how 
wistfully  he  regarded  them  ! — but  the  letter  was  a  proud  and 


343 


MACLEOD  OF  TARE, 


cold  letter.  He  said  that  he  had  been  informed  she  was 
about  to  be  married ;  he  wished  to  ascertain  from  herself 
whether  that  was  true.  He  would  not  reproach  her,  either 
with  treachery  or  deceit ;  if  this  was  true,  passionate  words 
would  not  be  of  much  avail.  But  he  would  prefer  to  be 
assured,  one  way  or  another,  by  her  own  hand.  That  was 
the  substance  of  the  letter. 

And  then,  the  answer  !  He  almost  feared  she  would  not 
write.  But  when  Hamish  himself  brought  that  pink  envelope 
to  him,  how  his  heart  beat !  And  the  old  man  stood  there 
in  silence,  and  with  gloom  on  his  face  ;  was  there  to  be, 
after  all,  no  act  of  vengeance  on  her  who  had  betrayed 
Macleod  of  Dare  ? 

These  few  words  seemed  to  have  been  written  with 
unsteady  fingers.  He  read  them  again  and  again.  Surely 
there  was  no  dark  mystery  within  them. 

"  Dear  Keith, — I  cannot  bear  to  write  to  you.     I  do 
not  know  how  it  has  all  happened.     Forgive  me,  if  you  can 
and  forget  me.  G." 

"  Oh,  Hamish,"  said  he,  with  a  strange  laugh,  "  it  is  an 
easy  thing  to  forget  that  you  have  been  alive  ?  That  would 
be  an  easy  thing,  if  one  were  to  ask  you  ?  But  is  not  Colin 
Laing  coming  here  to-day  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes.  Sir  Keith,"  Hamish  said,  with  his  eyes  lighting 
up  eagerly ;  "  he  will  be  here  with  the  Pioneer,  and  I  will 
send  the  boat  out  for  him.  Oh  yes,  and  you  are  wanting  to 
see  him.  Sir  Keith  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  ! "  Macleod  said.  "  If  we  are  gomg 
away  on  a  long  voyage,  do  we  not  want  a  good  pilot  ?  " 

"  And  we  are  going.  Sir  Keith  ?  "  the  old  man  said  ;  and 
there  was  a  look  of  proud  triumph  in  the  keen  face. 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  know  yet,"  Macleod  said,  impatiently. 
"  But  you  will  tell  Christina  that,  if  we  are  going  away  to 
the  South,  we  may  have  lady-visitors  come  on  board,  some 
day  or  another ;  and  she  would  be  better  than  a  young  lass 
to  look  after  them,  and  make  them  comfortable  on  board. 
And  if  there  is  any  clothes  or  ribbons  she  may  want  from 
Salen,  Donald  can  go  over  with  the  pony  ;  and  you  will  not 
spare  any  money,  Hamish,  for  I  will  give  you  the  money." 

"Very  well,  sir." 

"  And  you  will  not  send  the  boat  out  to  the  Pioneer  till  I 
give  vou  a  letter  •  and  vou  will  ask  the  clerk  to  be  so  kind 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  343 

as  to  post  it  for  me  to-night  at  Oban  ;  and  he  must  not  forget 
that." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  said  Hamish  ;  and  he  left  the  room,  with 
a  determined  look  about  his  lips,  but  with  a  glad  light  in  his 
eyes. 

This  was  the  second  letter  that  Macleod  wrote  ;  and  he 
had  to  keep  whispering  to  himself  "  Caution  !  caution  ! "  or 
he  would  have  broken  into  some  wild  appeal  to  his  sweet- 
heart  far  away. 

"  Dear  Gertrude,"  he  wrote,  "  I  gather  from  your  note 
that  it  is  true  you  are  going  to  be  married.  I  had  heard  some 
time  ago,  so  your  letter  was  no  great  shock  to  me  ;  and  what 
I  have  suffered — well,  that  can  be  of  no  interest  to  you  now, 
and  it  will  do  me  no  good  to  recall  it.  As  to  your  message, 
I  would  forgive  you  freely  ;  but  how  can  I  forget }  Can  you 
forget  ?  Do  you  remember  the  red  rose  ?  But  that  is  all 
over  now,  I  suppose  ;  and  I  should  not  wonder  if  I  were 
after  all,  to  be  able  to  obey  you,  and  to  forget  very  thor 
oughly — not  that  alone,  but  everything  else.  For  I  have 
been  rather  ill  of  late — more  through  sleeplessness  than  any 
other  cause,  I  think ;  and  they  say  I  must  go  for  a  long  sea- 
voyage  ;  and  the  mother  and  Janet  both  say  I  should  be  more 
at  home  in  the  old  Umpire^  with  Hamish  and  Christina,  and 
my  own  people  round  me,  than  in  a  steamer  ;  and  so  I  may 
not  hear  of  you  again  until  you  are  separated  from  me  forever. 
But  I  write  now  to  ask  you  if  you  would  like  your  letters  re- 
turned, and  one  or  two  keepsakes,  and  the  photographs.  I 
would  not  like  them  to  fall  into  other  hands  ;  and  sometimes 
I  feel  so  sick  at  heart  that  I  doubt  whether  I  shall  ever  again 
get  back  to  Dare.  There  are  some  flowers,  too  ;  but  I  would 
ask  to  be  allowed  to  keep  them,  if  you  have  no  objection  ; 
and  the  sketch  of  Ulva,  that  you  made  on  the  deck  of  the 
Umpi7'c^  when  we  were  coming  back  from  lona,  I  would  like 
to  keep  that,  if  you  have  no  objection.  And  I  remain  your 
faithful  friend, 

"  Keith  Macleod." 

Now,  at  the  moment  he  was  writing  this  letter.  Lady  Mac- 
leod and  her  niece  were  together  ;  the  old  lady  at  her  spin- 
ning-wheel, the  younger  one  sewhig  ;  and  Janet  Macleod  was 
say  i  no-, — 

"  Oh,  auntie,  I  am  so  glad  Keith  is  going  away  now  in 
the  yacht !  and  you  must  not  be  vexed  at  all  or  troubled  if  he 


344  MACLEOD  OF  DARE 

Stays  a  long  time  ;  for  what  else  can  make  him  well  again  ? 
Why,  you  know  that  he  has  not  been  Keith  at  all  of  late — he 
is  quite  another  man — I  do  not  think  any  one  would  recog- 
nize him.  And  surely  there  can  be  no  better  cure  for  slee[> 
lessness  than  the  rough  work  of  the  yachting ;  and  you  know 
Keith  will  take  his  share,  in  despite  of  Hamish  ;  and  if  he 
goes  away  to  the  South,  they  will  have  watches,  and  he  will 
take  his  watch  with  the  others,  and  his  turn  at  the  helm.  Oh, 
you  will  see  the  change  when  he  comes  back  to  us  !  " 

The  old  lady's  eyes  had  slowly  filled  with  tears. 

"  And  do  you  think  it  is  sleeplessness,  Janet,"  said  she, 
that  is  the  matter  with  our  Keith  1  Ah,  but  you  know  better 
than  that,  Janet." 

Janet  Macleod's  face  grew  suddenly  red;  but  she  said, 
hastily, — 

"  Why,  auntie,  have  I  not  heard  him  walking  up  and  down 
all  the  night,  whether  it  was  in  his  own  room  or  in  the 
library  ?  And  then  he  is  out  before  any  one  is  up  :  oh  yes,  I 
know  that  when  you  cannot  sleep  the  face  grows  white  and 
the  eyes  grow  tired.  And  he  has  not  been  himself  at  all — 
going  away  like  that  from  every  one,  and  having  nothing  to 
say,  and  going  away  by  himself  over  the  moors.  And  it  was 
the  night  before  last  he  came  back  from  Kinlock,  and  he  was 
wet  through,  and  he  only  lay  down  on  the  bed,  as  Hamish 
told  me,  and  would  have  slept  there  all  the  night,  but  for 
Hamish.  And  do  you  not  think  that  was  to  get  sleep  at  last 
that  he  had  been  walking  so  far,  and  coming  through  the 
shallows  of  Loch  Scridain,  too  ?  Ah,  but  you  will  see  the 
difference,  auntie,  when  he  comes  back  on  board  the  Umpire, 
and  we  will  go  down  to  the  shore,  and  we  will  be  glad  to  see 
him  that  day." 

"  Oh  yes,  Janet,"  the  old  lady  said,  and  the  tears  were 
running  down  her  face,  "  but  you  know — you  know.  And  if 
he  had  married  you,  Janet,  and  stayed  at  home  at  Dare,  there 
would  hav^  been  none  of  all  this  trouble.  And  now — what 
is  there  now  ?  It  is  the  young  English  lady  that  has  broken 
his  heart ;  and  he  is  no  longer  a  son  to  me,  and  he  is  no 
longer  your  cousin,  Janet ;  but  a  broken-hearted  man,  that 
does  not  care  for  anything.  And  you  are  very  kind,  Janet ; 
and  you  would  not  say  any  harm  of  any  one.  But  I  am  his 
mother — I — I — well,  if  the  woman  was  to  come  here  this 
day,  do  you  think  I  would  not  speak  t  It  was  a  bad  day  for 
us  all  that  he  went  away — instead  of  marrying  you,  Janet." 

"  But  you  know  that  could  never  have  been,  auntie,"  said 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


345 


the  gentle-eyed  cousin,  though  there  was  some  conscious 
flush  of  pride  in  her  cheeks.  "  I  could  never  have  married 
Keith." 

"  But  why,  Janet  ?  " 

"  You  have  no  right  to  ask  me,  auntie.  But  he  and  I — 
we  did -not  care  for  each  other — I  mean,  we  never  could  have 
been  married.  I  hope  you  will  not  speak  about  that  any 
more,  auntie." 

"  And  some  day  they  will  take  me,  too,  away  from  Dare," 
said  the  old  dame,  and  the  spinning-wheel  was  left  unheeded  ; 
"  and  I  cannot  go  into  the  grave  with  my  five  brave  lads — ^for 
where  are  they  all  now,  Janet  ? — in  Arizona  one,  in  Africa 
one,  and  two  in  the  Crimea,  and  my  brave  Hector  at  Konig- 
gratz.  But  that  is  not  much  ;  I  shall  be  meeting  them  all  to- 
gether :  and  do  you  not  think  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  them  all 
together  again  just  as  it  was  in  the  old  days  ;  and  they  will 
come  to  meet  me ;  and  they  will  be  glad  enough  to  have  the 
mother  with  them  once  again.  But,  Janet,  Janet,  how  can  I 
go  to  them  ?  What  wnll  I  say  to  them  when  they  ask  about 
Keith — about  Keith,  my  Benjamin,  my  youngest,  my  hand- 
some lad  ?  " 

The  old  woman  was  sobbing  bitterly  ;  and  Janet  went  to 
her  and  put  her  arms  round  her,  and  said, — 

"  Why,  auntie,  you  must  not  think  of  such  things.  You 
will  send  Keith  away  in  low  spirits,  if  you  have  not  a  bright 
face  and  a  smile  for  him  when  he  goes  away." 

"  But  you  do  not  know — you  do  not  know,"  the  old  wo- 
man said,  "  what  Keith  has  done  for  me.  The  others — oh 
yes,  they  were  brave  lads  ;  and  very  proud  of  their  name, 
too  ;  and  they  would  not  disgrace  their  name,  wherever  they 
went ;  and  if  they  died — that  is  nothing  :  for  they  will  be 
together  again  now,  and  what  harm  is  there  1  But  Keith,  he 
was  the  one  that  did  more  than  any  of  them  ;  for  he  stayed 
at  home  for  my  sake  ;  and  when  other  people  were  talking 
about  this  regiment  and  that  regiment,  Keith  would  not  tell 
me  what  was  sore  at  his  heart ;  and  never  once  did  he  say, 
'  Mother,  I  must  go  away  like  the  rest,'  though  it  was  in  his 
blood  to  go  away.  And  what  have  I  done  now  ? — and  what 
am  I  to  say  to  his  brothers  when  they  come  to  ask  me  ?  I 
will  say  to  them,  *  Oh  yes,  he  was  the  handsomest  of  all  my 
six  lads  ;  and  he  had  the  proudest  heart,  too  ;  but  I  kept  him 
at  home — and  what  came  of  it  ail  ? '  Would  it  not  be  better 
now  that  he  was  lying  buried  in  the  jungle  of  the  Gold 
Coast,  or  at  Koniggratz,  or  in  the  Crimea  ? " 


345  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"  Oh,  surely  not,  auntie  !  Keith  will  come  back  to  us 
soon  ;  and  when  you  see  him  well  and  strong  again,  and 
when  you  hear  his  laugh  about  the  house,  surely  you  will  not 
be  wishing  that  he  was  in  his  grave  ?  Why,  what  is  the 
matter  with  you  to-day,  auntie  ?  " 

"  The  others  did  not  suffer  much,  Janet,  and  to  three  of 
them,  anyway,  it  was  only  a  bullet,  a  cry,  and  then  the  death 
sleep  of  a  brave  man  and  the  grave  of  a  Macleod.  But 
Keith,  Janet — he  is  my  youngest — he  is  nearer  to  my  heart 
than  any  of  them  :  do  you  not  see  his  face  ? " 

"Yes,  auntie,"  Janet  Macleod  said,  in  a  low  voice;  "but 
he  will  get  over  that.  He  will  come  back  to  us  strong  and 
well." 

"  Oh  yes,  he  will  come  back  to  us  strong  and  well ! "  said 
the  old  lady,  almost  wildly,  and  she  rose,  and  her  face  was 
pale.  "  But  I  think  it  is  a  good  thing  for  that  woman  that 
my  other  sons  are  all  away  now  ;  for  they  had  quick  tempers, 
those  lads  ;  and  they  would  not  like  to  see  their  brother  mur- 
dered." 

"  Murdered,  auntie  !  " 

Lady  Macleod  would  have  answered  in  the  same  wild, 
passionate  way ;  but  at  this  very  moment  her  son  entered. 
She  turned  quickly  ;  she  almost  feared  to  meet  the  look  of 
this  haggard  face.  But  Keith  Macleod  said,  quite  cheer- 
fully,— 

"  Well  now,  Janet,  and  will  you  go  round  to-day  to  look 
at  the  Umpire  ?  And  will  you  com.e  too,  mother  ?  Oh,  she 
is  made  very  smart  now ;  just  as  if  we  were  all  going  away 
to  see  the  Queen." 

"  I  cannot  go  to-day,  Keith,"  said  his  mother ;  and  she 
left  the  room  before  he  had  time  to  notice  that  she  was 
strangely  excited. 

"  And  I  think  I  will  go  some  other  day,  Keith,"  his 
cousin  said,  gently,  "  just  before  you  start,  that  I  may  be 
sure  you  have  not  forgotten  anything.  And,  of  course,  you 
will  take  the  ladies'  cabin,  Keith,  for  yourself ;  for  there  is 
more  light  in  that,  and  it  is  farther  away  from  the  smell  of 
the  cooking  in  the  morning.  And  how  can  you  be  going  to- 
day, Keith,  when  it  is  the  man  from  Greenock  will  be  here 
soon  now  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  forgot  that,  Janet,"  said  he,  laughing  in  a  ner- 
vous way — "  I  forgot  that,  though  I  was  talking  to  Hamish 
about  him  only  a  little  while  ago.  And  I  think  I  might  as 
well  go  out  to  meet  the  Pioneer  myself,  if  the  boat  has  not 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


347 


left  yet.  Is  there  anything  you  would  like  to  get  from  Oban, 
Janet  ? " 

"  No,  nothing,  thank  you,  Keith,"  said  she  ;  and  then 
he  left ;  and  he  was  in  time  to  get  into  the  big  sailing-boat 
before  it  went  out  to  meet  the  steamer. 

This  cousin  of  Hamish,  who  jumped  into  the  boat  when 
Macleod's  letter  had  been  handed  up  to  the  clerk,  was  a  lit- 
tle, black-haired  Celt,  beady-eyed,  nervous,  but  with  the 
affectation  of  a  sailor's  bluffness,  and  he  wore  rings  in  his 
ears.  However,  when  he  was  got  ashore,  and  taken  into  the 
library,  Macleod  very  speedily  found  out  that  the  man  had 
some  fair  skill  in  navigation,  and  that  he  had  certainly  been 
into  a  good  number  of  ports  in  his  lifetime.  And  if  one 
were  taking  the  Umpire  into  the  mouth  of  the  Thames,  now  1 
Mr.  Lang  looked  doubtfully  at  the  general  chart  Macleod 
had ;  he  said  he  would  rather  have  a  special  chart,  which  he 
could  get  at  Greenock ;  for  there  were  a  great  many  banks 
about  the  mouth  of  the  Thames ;  and  he  was  not  sure  that 
he  could  remember  the  channel.  And  if  one  wished  to  go 
farther  up  the  river,  to  some  anchorage  in  communication  by 
rail  with  London  ?  Oh  yes,  there  was  Erith.  And  if  one 
would  rather  have  moorings  than  an  anchorage,  so  that  one 
might  slip  away  without  trouble  when  the  tide  and  wind  were 
favorable  ?  Oh  yes,  there  was  nothing  simpler  than  that. 
There  were  many  yachts  about  Erith  ;  and  surely  the  pier- 
master  could  get  the  Umpire  the  loan  of  moorings.  All 
through  Castle  Dare  it  was  understood  that  there  was  no 
distinct  destination  marked  down  for  the  U7npire  on  this  sud- 
denly-arranged voyage  of  hers  ;  but  all  the  same  Sir  Keith 
Macleod's  inquiries  went  no  farther,  at  present  at  least,  than 
the  river  Thames. 

There  came  another  letter  in  dainty  pink  ;  and  this  time 
there  was  less  trembling  in  the  handwriting,  and  there  was  a 
greater  frankness  in  the  wording  af  the  note. 

"  Dear  Keith,"  Miss  White  wrote,  "  I  would  like  to 
have  the  letters ;  as  for  the  little  trifles  you  mention,  it  does 
not  much  matter.  You  have  not  said  that  you  forgive  me  ; 
perhaps  it  is  asking  too  much ;  but  believe  me  you  will  find 
some  day  it  was  all  for  the  best.  It  is  better  now  than  later 
on.  I  had  my  fears  from  the  beginning;  did  not  I  tell  you 
that  I  was  never  sure  of  myself  for  a  day  ?  and  I  am  sure 
papa  warned  me.     I  cannot  make  you  any  requital  for  the 


348  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

great  generosity  and  forbearance  you  show  to  me  now  ;  but 
I  would  like  to  be  allowed  to  remain  your  friend.         G.  W." 

"  P.S. — I  am  deeply  grieved  to  hear  of  your  being  ill,  but 
hope  it  is  only  something  quite  temporary.  You  could  not 
have  decided  better  than  on  taking  a  long  sea-voyage.  I 
hope  you  will  have  fine  weather." 

All  this  was  very  pleasant.  They  had  got  into  the  region 
of  correspondence  again  ;  and  Miss  White  was  then  mistress 
of  the  situation.  His  answer  to  her  was  less  cheerful  in  tone. 
It  ran  thus  : 

"  Dear  Gertrude, — To-morrow  morning  I  leave  Dare. 
1  have  made  up  your  letters,  etc.,  in  a  packet ;  but  as  I 
would  like  to  see  Norman  Ogilvie  before  going  farther  south, 
it  is  possible  that  we  may  run  into  the  Thames  for  a  day  ; 
and  so  I  have  taken  the  packet  with  me,  and,  if  I  see  Ogilvie, 
I  will  give  it  to  him  to  put  into  your  hands.  And  as  this 
may  be  the  last  time  that  I  shall  ever  write  to  you,  I  may  tell 
you  now  there  is  no  one  anywhere  more  earnestly  hopeful 
than  I  that  you  may  live  a  long  and  happy  life,  not  troubled 
by  any  thinking  of  what  is  past  and  irrevocable.  Yours 
faithfully,  Keith  Macleod." 

So  there  w^as  an  end  of  correspondence.  And  now  came 
this  beautiful  morning,  with  a  fine  northwesterly  breeze 
blowing,  and  the  Umpire^  with  her  mainsail  and  jib  set,  and 
her  gray  pennon  and  ensign  fluttering  in  the  wind,  rocking 
gently  down  there  at  her  moorings.  It  was  an  auspicious 
morning  ;  of  itself  it  was  enough  to  cheer  up  a  heartsick 
man.  The  white  sea-birds  were  calling ;  and  Ulva  was 
shining  green  ;  and  the  Dutchman's  Cap  out  there  was  of  a 
pale  purple-blue ;  while  away  in  the  south  there  was  a  vague 
silver  mist  of  heat  lying  all  over  the  Ross  of  Mull  and  lona. 
And  the  proud  lady  of  Castle  Dare  and  Janet,  and  one  or 
two  others  more  stealthily,  were  walking  down  to  the  pier  to 
see  Keith  Macleod  set  sail ;  but  Donald  was  not  there — • 
there  was  no  need  for  Donald  or  his  pipes  on  board  the 
yacht.  Donald  was  up  at  the  house,  and  looking  at  the 
people  going  down  to  the  quay,  and  saying  bitterly  to  him- 
self, "  It  is  no  more  thought  of  the  pipes,  now,  that  Sir 
Keith  has,  ever  since  the  English  lady  was  at  Dare  ;  and 
he  thinks  I  am  better  at  work  in  looking  after  the  dogs." 

Suddenly  Macleod  stopped,  and  took  out  a  pencil  and 
wrote  something  on  a  card. 

"  I  was  sure  I  had  forgotten  something,  Janet,"  said  he. 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  349 

"  That  is  the  address  of  Johnny  Wickes's  mother.  We  were 
to  sent  him  up  to  see  her  some  time  before  Christmas." 

"  Before  Christmas  ! "  Janet  exclaimed  ;  and  she  looked 
at  him  in  amazement.  "  But  you  are  coming  back  before 
Christmas,  Keith !  " 

"Oh,  well,  Janet,"  said  he  carelessly,  "you  know  that 
when  one  goes  away  on  a  voyage  it  is  never  certain  about 
your  coming  back  at  all,  and  it  is  better  to  leave  everything 
right." 

"  But  you  are  not  going  away  from  us  with  thoughts  like 
those  in  your  head,  surely  ?  "  the  cousin  said.  "  Why,,  the 
,man  from  Greenock  says  you  could  go  to  America  in  the 
Umpire ;  and  if  you  could  go  to  America,  there  will  not  be 
much  risk  in  the  calmer  seas  of  the  South.  And  you  know, 
Keith,  auntie  and  I  don't  want  you  to  trouble  about  writing 
letters  ,to  us  ;  for  you  will  have  enough  trouble  in  looking 
after  the  yacht ;  but  you  will  send  us  a  telegram  from  the 
various  places  you  put  into." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  will  do  that,"  said  he  somewhat  absently. 
Even  the  bustle  of  departure  and  the  brightness  of  the  morn- 
ing had  failed  to  put  color  and  life  into  the  haggard  face  and 
the  hopeless  eyes. 

That  was  a  sorrowful  leave-taking  at  the  shore  ;  and 
Macleod,  standing  on  the  deck  of  the  yacht,  could  see  long 
after  they  had  set  sail,  thac  his  mother  and  cousin  were  still 
on  the  small  quay  watching  the  Umpire  so  long  as  she  was 
in  sight.  Then  they  rounded  the  Ross  of  Mull,  and  he  saw 
no  more  of  the  women  of  Castle  Dare. 

And  this  beautiful  white  sailed  vessel  that  is  going  south 
through  the  summer  seas  :  surely  she  is  no  deadly  instrument 
of  vengeance,  but  only  a  messenger  of  peace  ?  Look,  now 
how  she  has  passed  through  the  Sound  of  lona  ;  and  the 
white  sails  are  shining  in  the  light ;  and  far  away  before  her, 
instead  of  islands  with  which  she  is  fam.iliar,  are  other  islands 
— another  Colonsay  altogether,  and  Islay,  and  Jura,  and 
Scarba,  all  a  pale  transparent  blue.  And  what  "will  the  men 
on  the  lonely  Dubh-Artach  rock  think  of  her  as  they  see  her 
pass  by  ?  Why,  surely  that  she  looks  like  a  beautiful  white 
dove.  It  is  a  summer  day  ;  the  winds  are  soft ;  fly  south, 
then,  White  Dove,  and  carry  to  her  this  message  of  tender- 
ness, and  entreaty,  and  peace  ?  Surely  the  gentle  ear  will 
listen  to  you,  before  the  winter  comes  and  the  skies  grow 
dark  overhead,  and  there  is  no  white  dove  at  all,  but  an 
angry  sea-eagle,  with  black  wings  outspread  and  talons  ready 


350  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

to  strike,  Oh,  what  is  the  sound  in  the  summer  air  ?  Is  it 
the  singing  of  the  sea-maiden  of  Colonsay,  bewailing  still 
the  loss  of  her  lovers  m  other  years  ?  We  cannot  stay  to 
listen  ;  the  winds  are  fair ;  fly  southward,  and  still  southward, 
oh  you  beautiful  White  Dove,  and  it  is  all  a  message  of  love 
and  of  peace  that  you  will  whisper  to  her  ear. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

DOVE,    OR   SEA-EAGLE  ? 


But  there  are  no  fine  visions  troubling  the  mind  of  Ham- 
ish  as  he  stands  here  by  the  tiller  in  eager  consultation  with 
Colin  Laing,  who  has  a  chart  outspread  before  him  on  the 
deck.  There  is  pride  in  the  old  man's  face.  He  is  proud 
of  the  performances  of  the  yacht  he  has  sailed  for  so  many 
years  ;  and  proud  of  himself  for  having  brought  her — always 
subject  to  the  advice  of  his  cousin  from  Greenock — in  safety 
through  tlie  salt  sea  to  the  smooth  waters  of  the  great  river. 
And,  indeed,  this  is  a  strange  scene  for  the  Umpire  to  find 
around  her  in  the  years  of  her  old  age.  For  instead  of  the 
giant  cliffs  of  Gribun  and  Bourg  there  is  only  the  thin  green 
line  of  the  Essex  coast ;  and  instead  of  the  rushing  Atlantic 
there  is  the  broad  smooth  surface  of  this  coffee-colored  stream, 
splashed  with  blue  where  the  ripples  catch  the  reflected  light 
of  the  sky.  There  is  no  longer  the  solitude  of  Ulva  and 
Colcnsay,  or  the  moaning  of  the  waves  round  the  lonely 
shores  of  Fladda,  and  Staffa,  and  the  Dutchman;  but  the 
eager,  busy  life  of  the  great  river — a  black  steamer  puffing 
and  roaring,  russet-sailed  barges  going  smoothly  with  the 
tide,  a  tug  bearing  a  large  green-hulled  Italian  ship  through 
the  lapping  waters,  and  everywhere  a  swarming  fry  of  small 
boats  of  every  description.  It  is  a  beautiful  summer  morn- 
ing, though  there  is  a  pale  haze  lying  along  the  Essex  woods. 
The  old  Umpite^  with  the  salt  foam  of  the  sea  incrusted  on 
her  bows,  is  making  her  first  appearance  in  the  Thames. 

"  And  where  are  we  going,  Hamish,"  says  Colin  Laing, 
in  the  Gaelic,  "  when  we  leave  this  place  ?  " 

"When  you  are  told,  then  you  will  know,"  says  Hamish. 

"  You  had  enough  talk  of  it  last  night  in  the  cabin.     I 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  351 

thought  you  were  never  coming  out  of  the  cabin,"  says  the 
cousin  from  Greenock. 

"  And  if  I  have  a  master,  I  obey  my  master  without 
speaking,"  Hamish  answers. 

"  Well,  it  is  a  strange  master  you  have  got.  Oh,  you  do 
not  know  about  these  things,  Hamish.  Do  you  know  what 
a  gentleman  who  has  a  yacht  would  do  when  he  got  into 
Gravesend  as  we  got  in  last  night  .^  Why,  he  would  go 
ashore,  and  have  his  dinner  in  a  hotel,  and  drink  four  or  five 
diiferent  kinds  of  wine,  and  go  to  the  theatre.  But  your 
master,  Hamish,  what  does  he  do  ?  He  stays  on  board, 
and  sends  ashore  for  time-tables  and  such  things  ;  and  what 
is  more  than  that,  he  is  on  deck  all  night,  walking  up  and 
down.  Oh  yes ;  I  heard  him  walking  up  and  down  all  night, 
with  the  yacht  lying  at  anchor  !  " 

"  Sir  Keith  is  not  well.  When  a  man  is  not  well  he  does 
not  act  in  an  ordinary  way.  But  you  talk  of  my  master," 
Hamish  answered,  proudly.  "  Well,  I  will  tell  you  about  my 
master,  Colin — that  he  is  a  better  master  than  any  ten  thou- 
sand masters  that  ever  were  born  in  Greenock,  or  in  London 
either.  I  will  not  allow  any  man  to  say  anything  against  my 
master." 

"  I  was  not  saying  anything  against  your  master.  He  is 
a  wiser  man  than  you,  Hamish.  For  he  was  saying  to  me  last 
night,  *  Now,  when  I  am  sending  Hamish  to  such  and  such 
places  in  London,  you  must  go  with  him,  and  show  him  the 
trains,  and  cabs,  and  other  things  like  that.'  Oh  yes,  Hamish, 
you  know  how  to  sail  a  yacht ;  but  you  do  not  know  anything 
about  towns  ?  " 

"  And  who  would  want  to  know  anything  about  towns  ? 
Are  they  not  full  of  people  who  live  by  telling  lies  and  cheat- 
ing each  other.?  " 

"  And  do  yo'u  say  that  is  how  I  have  been  able  to  buy 
my  house  at  Greenock,"  said  Colin  Laing,  angrily,  "  with  a 
garden,  and  a  boathouse,  too  ?  "  | 

"  I  do  not  know  about  that,"  said  Hamish  ;  and  then  he 
called  out  some  order  to  one  of  the  men.  Macleod  was  at 
this  moment  down  in  the  saloon,  seated  at  the  table,  with  a 
letter  enclosed  and  addressed  lying  before  him.  But  surely 
this  was  not  the  same  man  who  had  been  in  these  still  waters 
of  the  Thames  in  the  bygone  days — with  gay  companions 
around  him,  and  the  band  playing  "  A  Highland  Lad  my 
Love  was  born,"  and  a  beautiful-eyed  girl,  whom  he  called 
Rose-leaf,  talking  to  him  in  the  quiet  of  the   summer  noon. 


352 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


This  man  had  a  look  in  his  eyes  like  that  of  an  animal  that 
has  been  hunted  to  death,  and  is  fain  to  lie  down  and  give 
itself  up  to  its  pursuers  in  the  despair  of  utter  fatigue.  He 
was  looking  at  this  letter.  The  composition  of  it  had  cost 
him  only  a  whole  night's  agony.  And  when  he  sat  down  and 
wrote  it  in  the  blue-gray  dawn,  what  had  he  not  cast  away  ? 

"  Oh  no,"  he  was  saying  now  to  his  own  conscience,  "  she 
will  not  call  it  deceiving  !  She  will  laugh  when  it  is  all  over 
— she  will  call  it  a  stratagem — she  will  say  that  a  drowning 
man  will  catch  at  anything.  And  this  is  the  last  effort — but 
it  is  only  a  stratagem  :  she  herself  will  absolve  me,  wdien  she 
laughs  and  says,  *  Oh,  how  could  you  have  treated  the  poor 
theatres  so  ? '  " 

A  loud  rattling  overhead  startled  him. 

"  We  must  be  at  Erith,"  he  said  to  himself ;  and  then,  after 
a  pause  of  a  second,  he  took  the  letter  in  his  hand.  He 
passed  up  the  companion-way.  Perhaps  it  was  the  sudden 
glare  of  the  light  around  that  falsely  gave  to  his  eyes  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  man  who  had  been  drinking  hard ;  but  his 
voice  was  clear  and  precise  as  he  said  to  Hamish, — 

"  Now,  Hamish,  you  understand  everything  I  have  told 
you  ? " 

"  Oh  yes,  Sir  Keith." 

"  And  you  will  put  away  that  nonsense  from  your  head  j 
and  when  you  see  the  Enj^lish  lady  that  you  remember,  you 
will  be  very  respectful  to  her,  for  she  is  a  very  great  friend 
of  mine ;  and  if  she  is  not  at  the  theatre,  you  will  go  on  to 
the  other  address,  and  Colin  Laing  will  go  with  you  in  the 
cab.  And  if  she  comes  back  in  the  cab,  you  and  Colin  will 
go  outside  beside  the  driver,  do  you  understand  ?  And  when 
you  go  ashore,  you  will  take  John  Cameron  with  you,  and  you 
will  ask  the  pier-master  about  the  moorings." 

"  Oh  yes.  Sir  Keith ;  have  you  not  told  me  before  ?  " 
Hamish  said,  almost  reproachfully. 

"  You  are  sure  you  got  everything  on  board  last  night  ?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  more  that  I  can  think  of,  Sir  Keith." 

"  Here  is  the  letter,  Hamish." 

And  so  he  pledged  himself  to  the  last  desperate  venture. 

Not  long  after  that  Hamish,  and  Laing,  and  John  Cam- 
eron went  in  the  dingy  to  the  end  of  Erith  pier,  and  left  the 
boat  there ;  and  went  along  to  the  head  of  the  pier,  and  had 
a  talk  with  the  pier-master.  Then  John  Cameron  went  back, 
and  the  other  two  went  on  their  way  to  the  railway-station. 

"And  I  will  tell  you  this,  Elamish,"  said  the  little  black 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


353 


Celt,  who  swaggered  a  good  deal  in  his  walk,  "  that  when  you 
go  in  the  train  you  will  be  greatly  frightened  ;  for  you  do  not 
know  how  strong  the  engines  are,  and  how  they  will  carry 
you  through  the  air." 

"  That  is  a  foolish  thing  to  say,"  answered  Hamish,  also 
speaking  in  the  Gaelic  ;  "  for  I  have  seen  many  pictures  of 
trains  ;  and  do  you  say  that  the  engines  are  bigger  than  the 
engines  of  the  Pioneer^  or  the  Dunara  Castle^  or  the  Clans 
man  that  goes  to  Stornoway  ?  Do  not  talk  such  nonsense  to 
me.  An  engine  that  runs  along  the  road,  that  is  a  small 
matter ;  but  an  engine  that  can  take  you  up  the  Sound  of 
Sleat,  and  across  the  Minch,  and  all  the  way  to  Stornoway, 
that  is  an  engine  to  be  talked  about ! " 

But  nevertheless  it  was  with  some  inward  trepidation  that 
Hamish  approached  Erith  station  ;  and  it  was  with  an  awe- 
struck silence  that  he  saw  his  cousin  take  tickets  at  the  office  ; 
nor  did  he  speak  a  word  when  the  train  came  up  and  they 
entered  and  sat  down  in  the  carriage.  Then  the  train  moved 
off,  and  Hamish  breathed  more  freely :  what  was  this  to  be 
afraid  of  ? 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  you  would  be  frightened  ?  "  Colin 
Laing  said. 

"  I  am  not  frightened  at  all,"  Hamish  answered,  indig- 
nantly. 

But  as  the  train  began  to  move  more  quickly,  Hamish's 
hands,  that  held  firmly  by  the  wooden  seat  on  which  he  was 
sitting,  tightened  and  still  further  tightened  their  grasp,  and 
his  teeth  got  clinched,  while  there  was  an  anxious  look  in  his 
eyes.  At  length,  as  the  train  swung  into  a  good  pace,  his 
fear  got  the  better  of  him,  and  he  called  out, — 

"Colin,  Colin,  she's  run  away?" 

And  then  Colin  Laing  laughed  aloud,  and  began  to  as- 
sume great  airs  ;  and  told  Hamish  that  he  was  no  better  than 
a  lad  kept  for  herding  the  sheep,  who  had  never  been  away 
from  his  own  home.  This  familiar  air  reassured  Hamish  ;  and 
then  the  train  stopping  at  Abbey  Wood  proved  to  him  that 
the  engine  was  still  under  control. 

"  Oh  yes,  Hamish,"  continued  his  travelled  cousin,  "  you 
will  open  5^our  eyes  when  you  see  London  ;  and  you  will  tell 
all  the  people  when  you  go  back  that  you  have  never  seen  so 
great  a  place  ;  but  what  is  London  to  the  cities  and  the  towns 
and  the  palaces  that  I  have  seen  ?  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
Valparaiso,  Hamish  ?  Oh  yes,  you  will  live  a  long  time  be- 
fore you  will  get  to  Valparaiso !     And  Rio  :  why,  I  have 


354 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE, 


known  mere  boys  that  have  been  to  Rio.  And  you  can  sail 
a  yacht  very  well,  Hamish  ;  and  I  do  not  grumble  that  you 
would  be  the  master  of  the  yacht,  though  I  know  the  banks 
and  the  channels  a  little  better  than  you,  and  it  was  quite 
right  of  you  to  be  the  master  of  the  yacht ;  but  you  have  not 
seen  what  I  have  seen.  And  I  have  been  where  there  are 
^mountains  and  mountains  of  gold — " 

"  Do  you  take  me  for  a  fool,  Colin  ?  "  said  Hamish,  with 
a  contemptuous  smile. 

"  Not  quite  that,"  said  the  other,  "  but  am  I  not  to  be- 
lieve my  own  eyes  t  " 

"  And  if  there  were  the  great  mountains  of  gold,"  said 
Hamish,  "  why  did  you  not  fill  your  pockets  with  the  gold  ? 
and  would  not  that  be  better  than  selling  whiskey  in  Green- 
ock ? " 

"  Yes  ;  and  that  shows  what  an  ignorant  man  you  are, 
Hamish,"  said  the  other,  with  disdain.  "  For  do  you  not 
know  that  the  gold  is  mixed  with  quartz  and  you  have  got 
to  take  the  quartz  out  ?  But  I  dare  say  now  you  do 
not  know  what  quartz  is ;  for  it  is  a  very  ignorant  man 
you  are,  although  you  can  sail  a  yacht.  But  I  do  not 
grumble  at  all.  You  are  master  of  your  own  yacht,  just 
as  I  am  the  master  of  my  own  shop.  But  if  you  were 
coming  into  my  shop,  Hamish,  I  would  say  to  you,  '  Hamish, 
you  are  the  master  here,  and  I  am  not  the  master ;  and  you 
can  take  a  glass  of  anything  that  you  like.'  That  is  what 
people  who  have  travelled  all  over  the  world,  and  seen 
princes  and  great  cities  and  palaces,  call  politeness.  But  how 
could  you  know  anything  about  politeness  ?  You  have  lived 
only  on  the  west  coast  of  Mull ;  and  they  do  not  even  know 
how  to  speak  good  Gaelic  there." 

"  That  is  a  lie,  Colin  !  "  said  Hamish,  with  decision. 
"  We  have  better  Gaelic  there  than  any  other  Gaelic  that  is 
spoken." 

"  Were  you  ever  in  Lochaber,  Hamish  ?  "  j 

"  No,  I  was  never  in  Lochaber."  i 

"  Then  do  not  pretend  to  give  an  opinion  about  the  Gaelic 
— especially  to  a  man  who  has  travelled  all  over  the  world, 
though  perhaps  he  cannot  sail  a  yacht  as  well  as  you,  Ham- 
ish." 

The  two  cousins  soon  became  friends  again,  however. 
And  now,  as  they  were  approaching  London,  a  strange  thing 
became  visible.  The  blue  sky  grew  more  and  more  obscured 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE 


355 


The  \vh  3le  world  seemed  to  be  enveloped  in  a  ciciir  brown 
haze  of  smoke. 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  Hamish,  "that  is  a  strange  thing." 
"  What  is  a  strange  thing,  Hamish  ?  " 
"  I  was  reading  about  it  in  a  book  many  a  time — the 
great  fire  that  was  burning  in  London  for  years  and  years 
and  years,  and  have  they  not  quite  got  it  out  yet,  Colin  ? '' 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  are  talking  about,  Hamish," 
said  the  other,  who  had  not  much  book-learning,  "  but  I  will 
tell  you  this,  that  you  may  prepare  yourself  now  to  open 
your  eyes.  Oh  yes,  London  will  make  you  open  your  eyes 
wide  ;  though  it  is  nothing  to  one  who  has  been  to  Rio,  and 
Shanghai,  and  Rotterdam,  and  other  places  like  that." 

Now  these  references  to  foreign  parts  only  stung  Ham- 
ish's  pride,  and  when  they  did  arrive  at  London  Bridge  he 
was  determined  to  show  no  surprise  whatever.  He  stepped 
into  the  four-wheeled  cab  that  Colin  Laing  chartered,  just  as 
if  four-wheeled  cabs  were  as  common  as  sea-gulls  on  the 
shores  of  Loch-na-Keal.  And  though  his  eyes  were  be- 
wildered and  his  ears  dinned  with  the  wonderful  sights  and 
sounds  of  this  great  roaring  city — that  seemed  to  have  the 
population  of  all  the  world  pouring  through  its  streets — he 
would  say  nothing  at  all.  At  last  the  cab  stopped  ;  the  two 
men  were  opposite  the  Piccadilly  Theatre. 

Then  Hamish  got  out  and  left  his  cousin  with  the  cab- 
He  ascended  the  wide  steps  ;  he  entered  the  great  vestibule  ; 
and  he  had  a  letter  in  his  hand.  The  old  man  had  not  trem- 
bled so  much  since  he  was  a  schoolboy. 

"  What  do  you  want,  my  man  ?  "  some  one  said,  coming 
out  of  the  box-office  by  chance. 
Hamish  showed  the  letter. 

"  I  wass  to  hef  an  answer,  sir  if  you  please,  sir,  and  I 
will  be  opliged,"  said  Hamish,  who  had  been  enjoined  to  be 
very  courteous. 

"Take  it  round  to  the  stage  entrance,"  said  the  man, 
carelessly. 

"  Yes,  sir,  if  you  please,  sir,"  said  Hamish  ;  but  he  did 
not  understand  ;  and  he  stood. 

The  man  looked  at  him  ;  called  for  some  one ;  a  young 
lad  came,  and  to  him  was  given  the  letter. 

"  You  may  wait  here,  then,"  said  he  to  Hamish  ;  "but  I 
think  rehearsal  is  over,  and  Miss  White  has  most  likely  gone 
home." 

The  man  went  into  the  box-office  again  ;  Hamish  was  left 


356  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

alone  there,  in  the  great  empty  vestibule.  The  Piccadilly 
Theatre  had  seldom  seen  within  its  walls  a  more  picturesque 
figure  than  this  old  Highlandman,  who  stood  there  with  his 
sailor's  cap  in  his  hand,  and  with  a  keen  excitement  in  the 
proud  and  fine  face.  There  was  a  watchfulness  in  the  gray 
eyes  like  the  watchfulness  of  an  eagle.  If  he  twisted  his  cap 
rather  nervously,  and  if  his  heart  beat  quick,  it  was  not  from 
fear. 

Now,  when  the  letter  was  brought  to  Miss  White,  she  was 
standing  in  one  of  the  wings,  laughing  and  chatting  with  the 
stage  manager.  The  laugh  went  from  her  face.  She  grew 
quite  pale. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Cartwright,"  said  she,  *'  do  you  think  I  could 
go  down  to  Erith  and  be  back  before  six  in  the  evening  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  why  not  ?  "  said  he  carelessly. 

But  she  scarcely  heard  him.  She  was  still  staring  at  that 
sheet  of  paper,  with  its  piteous  cry  of  the  sick  man.  Only  to 
see  her  once  more — to  shake  hands  in  token  of  forgiveness 
— to  say  good-by  for  the  last  time  :  what  woman  with  the 
heart  of  a  woman  could  resist  this  despairing  prayer  ? 

"  Where  is  the  man  who  brought  this  letter  ?  "  said  she. 

"  In  front,  miss,"  said  the  young  lad,  "  by  the  box-office." 

Very  quickly  she  made  her  way  along  the  gloomy  and 
empty  corridors,  and  there  in  the  twilit  hall  she  found  the 
gray-haired  old  sailor,  with  his  cap  held  humbly  in  his  hands. 

"  Oh,  Hamish,"  said  she,  "  is  Sir  Keith  so  very  ill  ?  " 

"  Is  it  ill,  mem  ? "  said  Hamish ;  and  quick  tears  sprang 
to  the  old  man's  eyes.  "  He  iss  more  ill  than  you  can  think 
of,  mem  ;  it  iss  another  man  that  he  iss  now.  Ay,  ay,  who 
would  know  him  to  be  Sir  Keith  Macleod  ?  " 

"  He  wants  me  to  go  and  see  him  ;  and  I  suppose  I  have 
no  time  to  go  home  first — " 

"  Here  is  the  list  of  the  trains,  mem,"  said  Hamish,  eag- 
erly, producing  a  certain  card.  "  And  it  iss  me  and  Colin 
Laing,  that's  my  cousin,  mem  ;  and  we  hef  a  cab  outside  ; 
and  will  you  go  to  the  station  ?  Oh,  you  will  not  know  Sir 
Keith,  mem  ;  there  iss  no  one  at  all  would  know  my  master 
now." 

"  Come  along,  then,  Hamish,"  said  she,  quickly.  "  Oh, 
but  he  cannot  be  so  ill  as  that.  And  the  long  sea-voyage  will 
pull  him  round,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

"  Ay,  ay,  mem,"  said  Hamish ;  but  he  was  paying  little 
heed.  He  called  up  the  cab,  and  Miss  White  stepped  inside, 
and  he  and  Colin  Laing  got  on  the  box. 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


357 


*•  Tell  him  to  go  quickly,"  she  said  to  Hamish,  "  for  I 
must  have  something  instead  of  luncheon  if  we  have  a  minute 
at  the  station." 

And  Miss  White,  as  the  cab  rolled  away,  felt  pleased  with 
herself.     It  was  a  brave  act. 

"  It  is  the  least  I  can  do  for  the  sake  of  my  bonny  Glen- 
ogie,"  she  was -saying  to  herself,  quite  cheerfully.  "  And  if 
Mr.  Lemuel  were  to  hear  of  it  ?  Well,  he  must  know  that  I 
mean  to  be  mistress  of  my  own  conduct.  And  so  the  poor 
Glenogie  is  really  ill.  I  can  do  no  harm  in  parting  good 
friends  with  him.     Some  men  would  have  made  a  fuss." 

At  the  station  they  had  ten  minutes  to  wait ;  and  Miss 
White  was  able  to  get  the  slight  refreshment  she  desired. 
And  although  Hamish  would  fain  have  kept  out  of  her  way 
— for  it  was  not  becoming  in  a  rude  sailor  to  be  seen  speak- 
ing to  so  fine  a  lady — she  would  not  allow  that. 

"  And  where  are  you  going,  Hamish,  when  you  leave  the 
Thames  ? "  she  asked,  smoothing  the  fingers  of  the  glove  she 
had  just  put  on  again. 

"  I  do  not  know  that,  mem,"  said  he. 

"  I  hope  Sir  Keith  won't  go  to  Torquay  or  any  of  those 
languid  places.  You  will  go  to  the  Mediterranean,  I  sup- 
pose ?  " 

"  Maybe  that  will  be  the  place,  mem,"  said  Hamish. 

"  Or  the  Isle  of  Wight,  perhaps,"  said  she,  carelessly. 

"  Ay,  ay,  mem — the  Isle  of  Wight — that  will  bea  ferry  good 
place,  now.  There  wass  a  man  I  wass  seeing  once  in  Tob- 
bermorry,  and  he  wass  telling  me  about  the  castle  that  the 
Queen  herself  will  hef  on  that  island.  And  Mr.  Ross,  the 
Queen's  piper,  he  will  be  living  there  too. 

But,  of  course,  they  had  to  part  company  when  the  train 
came  up  ;  and  Hamish  and  Colin  Laing  got  into  a  third-class 
carriage  together.  The  cousin  from  Greenock  had  been 
hanging  rather  in  the  background  ;  but  he  had  kept  his  ears 
open. 

"  Now,  Hamish,"  said  he,  in  the  tongue  in  which  they 
could  both  speak  freely  enough,  "  I  will  tell  you  something ; 
and  do  not  think  I  am  an  ignorant  man,  for  I  know  what  is 
going  on.  Oh  yes.  And  it  is  a  great  danger  you  are  running 
into." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Colin  ?  "  said  Hamish ;  but  he  would 
look  out  of  the  window. 

"  When  a  gentleman  goes  away  in  a  yacht,  does  he  take 
an  old  woman  like  Christina  with  him  ?     Oh  no  ;  I  think  not. 


358  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

It  is  not  a  customary  thing.  And  the  ladies'  cabin ;  the 
ladies'  cabin  is  kept  very  smart,  Hamish.  And  I  think  1 
know  who  is  to  have  the  ladies'  cabin  ?  " 

"  Then  you  are  very  clever,  Colin,"  said  Hamish,  con- 
temptously.  "  But  it  is  too  clever  you  are.  You  think  it 
strange  that  the  young  English  lady  should  take  that  cabin. 
I  will  tell  you  this — that  it  is  not  the  first  time  nor  the  second 
time  that  the  young  English  lady  has  gone  for  a  voyage  in 
the  Umpire^  and  in  that  very  cabin  too.  And  I  will  tell  you 
this,  Colin;  that  it  is  this  very  year  she  had  that  cabin  ;  and 
\\as  in  Loch  Tua,  and  Loch-na-Keal,  and  Loch  Scridain, 
and  Calgary  Bay.  And  as  for  Christina — oh,  it  is  much 
you  know  about  fine  ladies  in  Greenock !  I  tell  you 
that  an  English  lady  cannot  go  anywhere  without  some 
one  to  attend  to  her." 

"  Hamish,  do  not  try  to  make  a  fool  of  me,"  said  Laing 
angrily.  "Do  you  think  a  lady  would  go  travelling  without 
any  luggage  ?  And  she  does  not  know  where  the  Umpire  is 
going !  " 

"  Do  you  know  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Very  well,  then.  It  is  Sir  Keith  Macleod  who  is  the 
master  when  he  is  on  board  the  Umpire^  and  where  he  wants 
to  go  the  others  have  to  go." 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  that  ?  And  do  you  speak  like  that 
to  a  man  who  can  pay  eighty-five  pounds  a  year  of  rent  ?  " 

*'  No,  I  do  not  forget  that  it  is  a  kindness  to  me  that  you 
are  doing,  Colin  ;  and  to  Sir  Keith  Macleod,  too  ;  and  he 
will  not  forget  it.  But  as  for  this  young  lady,  or  that  young 
lady,  what  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?  You  know  what  the  bell 
of  Scoon  said,  "  That  which  concerns  you  not^  meddle  not 
zvith:  " 

"  I  shall  be  glad  when  I  am  back  in  Greenock,"  said 
Colin  Laing,  moodily. 

But  was  not  this  a  fine,  fair  scene  that  Miss  Gertrude 
White  saw  around  her  when  they  came  in  sight  of  the  river 
and  Erith  pier  ? — the  flashes  of  blue  on  the  water,  the  white- 
sailed  yachts,  the  russet-sailed  barges,  and  the  sunshine 
shining  all  along  the  thin  line  of  the  Essex  shore.  The 
moment  she  set  foot  on  the  pier  she  recognized  the  Umpire 
lying  out  there,  the  great  white  mainsail  and  jib  idly  flapping 
in  the  summer  breeze  :  but  there  was  no  one  on  deck.  ^And 
she  was  not  afraid  at  all ;  for  had  he  not  written  in  so  kmdlj 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  ^cg 

a  fashion  to  her ;  and  was  she  not  doing  much  for  his   sake 
too  ?  " 

"  Will  the  shock  be  great  ?  "  she  was  thinking  to  herself. 
*'  I  hope  my  bonnie  Glenogie  is  not  so  ill  as  that ;  for  he 
always  looked  like  a  man.  And  it  is  so  much  better  that 
we  should  part  good  friends." 

She  turned  to  Hamish. 

"  There  is  no  one  on  the  deck  of  the  yacht,  Hamish," 
said  she. 

"  No,  m.em,"  said  he,  "  the  men  will  be  at  the  end  of  the 
pier,  mem,  in  the  boat,  if  you  please,  mem." 

"  Then  you  took  it  for  granted  I  should  come  back  with 
you  ?  "  said  she,  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

"  I  wass  thinking  you  would  come  to  see  Sir  Keith,  mem," 
said  Hamish,  gravely.  His  manner  was  very  respectful  to 
the  fine  English  lady  ;  but  there  was  not  much  of  friendliness 
in  his  look. 

She  followed  Hamish  down  the  rude  wooden  steps  at 
the  end  of  the  pier ;  and  there  they  found  the  dingy  awaiting 
them,  with  two  men  in  her.  Hamish  was  very  careful  of 
Miss  White's  dress  as  she  got  into  the  stern  of  the  boat ; 
then  he  and  Colin  Laing  got  into  the  bow  ;  and  the  men  half 
paddled  and  half  floated  her  along  to  the  Umpire — the  tide 
having  begun  to  ebb. 

And  it  was  with  much  ceremony,  too,  that  Hamish 
assisted  Miss  White  to  get  on  board  by  the  little  gangway ; 
and  for  a  second  or  two  she  stood  on  deck  and  looked 
around  her  while  the  men  were  securing  the  dingy.  The 
idlers  lounging  on  Erith  pier  must  have  considered  that  this 
was  an  additional  feature  of  interest  in  the  summer  picture 
— the  figure  of  this  pretty  young  lady  standing  there  on  the 
white  decks  and  looking  around  her  with  a  pleased  curiosity. 
It  was  some  little  time  since  she  had  been  on  board  the 
Umpire. 

Then  Hamish  turned  to  her,  and  said,  in  the  same 
respectful  way, 

"  Will  you  go  below,  mem,  now  ?  It  iss  in  the  saloon 
that  you  will  find  Sir  Keith  ;  and  if  Christina  iss  in  the  way, 
you  will  tell  her  to  go  away,  mem." 

The  small  gloved  hand  was  laid  on  the  top  of  the  com- 
panion, and  Miss  White  carefully  went  down  the  wooden 
steps.  And  it  with  a  gentleness  equal  to  her  own  that 
Hamish  shut  the  little  doors  after  her. 

But  no  sooner  had  she  quite  disappeared  than  the  old 


360  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

man's  manner  swiftly  changed.  He  caught  hold  of  the  com- 
panion hatch,  jammed  it  across  with  a  noise  that  was  heard 
throughout  the  whole  vessel ;  and  then  he  sprang  to  the  helm, 
with  the  keen  gray  eyes  afire  with  a  wild  excitement. 

" her,  we  have  her  now  !  "  he  said,  between  his  teeth  ; 

and  he  called  aloud  :  "  Hold  the  jib  to  weather  there  !     Off 

with  the  moorings,  John  Cameron  !    her,  we  have  her 

now  ! — and  it  is  not  yet  that  she  has  put  a  shame  on  Macleod 
of  Dare  !  " 


CHAPTER  XLTV. 

THE   PRISONER. 


The  sudden  noise  overhead  and  the  hurried  trampling  of 
the  men  on  deck  were  startling  enough  ;  but  surely  there  was 
nothing  to  alarm  her  in  the  calm  and  serious  face  of  this  man 
who  stood  before  her.  He  did  not  advance  to  her.  He  re- 
garded her  with  a  sad  tenderness,  as  if  he  were  looking  at 
one  far  away.  When  the  beloved  dead  come  back  to  us  in 
the  wonder-halls  of  sleep,  there  is  no  wild  joy  of  meeting : 
there  is  something  strange.  And  when  they  disappear  again, 
there  is  no  surprise  :  only  the  dull  aching  returns  to  the 
heart. 

"  Gertrude,"  said  he,  "  you  are  as  safe  here  as  ever  you 
were  in  your  mother's  arms.     No  one  will  harm  you." 

"  What  is  it  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  she,  quickly. 

She  was  somewhat  bewildered.  She  had  not  expected  to 
meet  him  thus  suddenly  face  to  face.  And  then  she  became 
aware  that  the  companion-way  by  which  she  had  descended 
mto  the  saloon  had  grown  dark  :  that  was  the  meaning  of  the 
harsh  noise. 

"  I  want  to  go  ashore,  Keith,"  said  she  hurriedly.  "  Put 
me  on  shore.     I  will  speak  to  yo  u  there." 

"You  cannot  go  ashore,"  said  he,  calmly. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  she  ;  and  her  heart 
began  to  beat  hurriedly.  "I  tell  you  I  want  to  go  ashore, 
Keith.     I  will  speak  to  you  there." 

"  You  cannot  go  ashore,  Gertrude,"  he  repeated.  "  We 
have  already  left  Erith.  *  =^   *  Gerty,  Gerty,"  he  continued^ 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  361 

for  she  was  struck  dumb  ^\itli  a  sudden  terror,  " don't  you 
understand  now  ?  I  have  stolen  you  away  from  yourself. 
There  was  but  the  one  thing  left :  the  one  way  of  saving  you. 
And  you  will  forgive  me,  Gerty,  when  you  understand  it 
all—" 

She  was  gradually  recovering  from  her  terror.  She  did 
understand  it  now.     And  he  was  not  ill  at  all. 

"  Oh,  you  coward  !  you  coward  !  you  coward  !  "  she  ex- 
claimed, with  a  blaze  of  fury  in  her  eyes.  "  And  I  was  to 
confer  a  kindness  on  you — a  last  kindness  !  But  you  dare 
not  do  this  thing  !  I  tell  you,  you  dare  not  do  it !  I  demand 
to  be  put  on  shore  at  once  !     Do  you  hear  me  ?  " 

She  turned  wildly  round,  as  if  to  seek  for  some  way  of 
escape.  The  door  in  the  ladies'  cabin  stood  open  ;  the  day- 
light was  streaming  down  into  that  cheerful  little  place  ;  there 
were  some  flowers  on  the  dressing-table.  But  the  way  by 
which  she  had  descended  was  barred  over  and  dark. 

She  faced  him  again,  and  her  eyes  were  full  of  fierce  in- 
dignation and  anger  ;  she  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height ; 
she  overwhelmed  him  with  taunts,  and  reproaches,  and  scorn. 
That  was  a  splendid  piece  of  acting,  seeing  that  it  had  never 
been  rehearsed.  He  stood  unmoved  before  all  this  theatrical 
rage. 

"  Oh  yes,  you  were  proud  of  your  name,"  she  was  saying, 
with  bitter  emphasis  ;  *'  and  I  thought  you  belonged  to  a  race 
of  gentlemen,  to  whom  lying  was  unknown.  And  you  were 
no  longer  murderous  and  revengeful ;  but  you  can  take  your 
revenge  on  a  woman,  for  all  that !  And  you  ask  me  to  come 
and  see  you,  because  you  are  ill !  And  you  have  laid  a  trap 
— like  a  coward  !  " 

"  And  if  I  am  what  you  say,  Gerty,"  said  he,  quite  gently, 
"  it  is  the  love  of  you  that  has  made  me  that.  Oh,  you  do 
not  know  !  " 

She  saw  nothing  of  the  lines  that  pain  had  written  on 
this  man's  face  ;  she  recognized  nothing  of  the  very  majesty 
of  grief  in  the  hopeless  eyes.  He  was  only  her  gaoler,  her 
enemy. 

"  Of  course — of  course,"  she  said.  "  It  is  the  woman — 
it  is  always  the  woman  who  is  in  fault !  That  is  a  manly 
thing,  to  put  the  blame  on  the  woman  !  And  it  is  a  manly 
thing  to  take  your  revenge  on  a  woman  !  I  thought,  when  a 
man  had  a  rival,  that  it  was  his  rival  whom  he  sought  out. 
But  you — you  kept  out  of  the  way — " 

He  strode  forward  and  caught  her  by  the  wrist.     There 


362  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

was  a  look  in  his  face  that  for  a  second  terrified  her  intc 
silence. 

•' Gerty,"  said  he,  "  I  warn  you!  Do  not  mention  that 
inan  to  me — now  or  at  any  time ;  or  it  will  be  bad  for  him 
and  for  you  !  " 

She  twisted  her  hand  from  his  grasp. 

"  How  dare  you  come  near  me  !  "  she  cried. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he,  with  an  instant  return  lo 
his  former  grave  gentleness  of  manner.  "  I  wish  to  let  you 
know  how  you  are  situated,  if  you  will  let  me,  Gerty.  I 
don't  wish  to  justify  what  I  have  done,  for  you  would  not 
hear  me — ^just  yet.  But  this  I  must  tell  you,  that  I  don't 
wish  to  force  myself  on  your  society.  You  will  do  as  you 
please.  There  is  your  cabin  ;  you  have  occupied  it  before* 
If  you  would  like  to  have  this  saloon,  you  can  have  that  too ; 
I  mean  I  shall  not  com.e  into  it  unless  it  pleases  you.  And 
there  is  a  bell  in  your  cabin  ;  and  if  you  ring  it,  Christina 
will  answer. 

She  heard  him  out  patiently.  Her  reply  was  a  scornful, 
perhaps  nervous,  laugh. 

"  Why,  this  is  mere  folly,"  she  dxclaimed.  "  It  is  simple 
madness.  I  begin  to  believe  that  you  are  really  ill,  after  all ; 
and  it  is  your  mind  that  is  affected.  Surely  you  don't  know 
what  you  are  doing  ?  " 

"  You  are  angry,  Gerty,"  said  he. 

But  the  first  blaze  of  her  wrath  and  indignation  had 
passed  away  ;  and  now  fear  was  coming  uppermost. 

"  Surely,  Keith,  you  cannot  be  dreaming  of  such  a  mad 
thing  !  Oh,  it  is  impossible  !  It  is  a  joke  :  it  was  to  frighten 
me  ;  it  was  to  punish  me,  perhaps.  Well,  I  have  deserved 
it ;  but  now — now  you  have  succeeded  ;  and  you  will  let  me 
go  ashore,  farther  down  the  river." 

Her  tone  was  altered.     She  had  been  watching  his  face. 

"  Oh  no,  Gerty  ;  oh  no,"  he  said.  "  Do  you  not  under- 
stand yet  ?  You  were  everything  in  the  world  to  me  ;  you 
were  life  itself.  Without  you  I  had  nothing,  and  the  world 
might  just  as  well  come  to  an  end  for  me.  And  l/hc-ii  I 
thought  you  were  going  away  from  me,  what  could  I  do  ?  I 
could  not  reach  you  by  letters,  and  letters  ;  and  how  could 
I  know  what  the  people  around  you  were  saying  to  you  ? 
Ah,  you  do  not  know  what  I  have  suffered,  Gerty !  And 
always  I  was  saying  to  myself  that  if  I  could  get  you  away 
from  these  people,  you  would  remember  the  time  that  you 
^ave  me  the  red  rose,  and  all  those  beautiful  days  would  come 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  363 

back  again,  and  I  would  take  your  hand  again,  and  I  would 
forget  altogether  about  the  terrible  nights  when  I  saw  you 
beside  me  and  heard  you  laugh  just  as  in  the  old  times. 
And  I  knew  there  was  only  the  one  way  left.  How  could  I 
but  Iry  that  ?  I  knew  you  would  be  angry,  but  I  hoped  your 
anger  would  go  away.  And  now  you  are  angry,  Gerty,  and 
my  speaking  to  you  is  not  of  much  use — as  yet ;  but  1  can 
vvait  until  I  see  yourself  again,  as  you  used  to  be,  in  the  gar- 
den— don't  you  remember,  Gerty  t  " 

Her  face  was  proud,  cold,  implacable. 

"  Do  I  understand  you  aright :  that  you  have  shut  me  up 
m  this  yacht  and  mean  to  take  me  away  .'*  " 

"  Gerty,  I  have  saved  you  from  yourself !  " 

"  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  tell  me  where  we  are  going  ? " 

"  Why  not  away  back  to  the  Highlands,  Gerty  ?  "  said 
he,  eagerly.  "  And  then  some  day  when  your  heart  relents, 
and  you  forgive  me,  you  will  put  your  hand  in  mine,  and  we 
will  walk  up  the  road  to  Castle  Dare.  Do  you  not  think 
they  will  be  glad  to  see  us  that  day,  Gerty  ? " 

She  maintained  her  proud  attitude,  but  she  was  trembling 
fron-j  head  to  foot. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  until  I  consent  to  be  your 
wife  I  am  not  to  be  allowed  to  leave  this  yacht  ?  " 

"  You  will  consent  Gerty !  " 

"  Not  if  I  were  to  be  shut  up  here  for  a  thousand  years  ! " 
she  exclaimed,  with  another  burst  of  passion.  "  Oh,  you 
will  pay  for  this  dearly  !  I  thought  it  was  madness — mere 
folly ;  but  if  it  is  true,  you  will  rue  this  day  1  Do  you  think 
we  are  savages  here  ?     Do  you  think  we  have  no  law  ?  " 

"I  do  not  care  for  any  law,"  said  he,  simply.  "I  can 
only  think  of  the  one  thing  in  the  world.  If  I  have  not  your 
love,  Gerty,  what  else  can  I  care  about  ? " 

"  My  love  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  And  this  is  the  way  to  earn 
it,  truly  !  My  love  !  If  you  were  to  keep  me  shut  up  for  a  thous- 
and years,  you  would  never  have  it !  You  can  have  my 
hatred,  if  you  like,  and  plenty  of  it,  too  !  " 

"  You  are  angry,  Gerty  ! "  was  all  he  said. 

"  Oh,  you  do  not  know  with  whom  you  have  to  deal !  " 
she  continued,  with  the  same  bitter  emphasis.  "  You  terrified 
me  with  stories  of  butchery — the  butchery  of  innocent  women 
and  children ;  and  no  doubt  you  thought  the  stories  were 
fine  ;  and  now  you  too  would  show  you  are  one  of  the  race 
by  taking  revenge  on  a  woman.  But  if  she  is  only  a  woman, 
you  have  not  conquered  her  yet !     Oh,  you  will  find  out  be- 


364  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

fore  long  that  we  have  law  Ui  this  country,  and  that  it  is  not 
to  be  outraged  with  impunity.  You  think  you  can  do  as  you 
like,  because  you  are  a  Highland  master,  and  you  have  a  lot 
of  slaves  round  you  1  '* 

"  I  am  going  on  deck  now,  Gerty,"  said  he,  in  the  same 
sad  and  gentle  way.     "  Shall  I  send  Christina  to  you  ?  " 

For  an  instant  she  looked  bewildered,  as  if  she  had  not 
till  now  comprehended  what  was  going  on  ;  and  she  said, 
quite  wildly, — 

"Oh  no,  no,  no,  Keith  ;  you  don't  mean  what  you  say  ! 
You  cannot  mean  it !  You  are  only  frightening  me  !  You 
will  put  me  ashore — and  not  a  word  shall  pass  my  lips.  We 
cannot  be  far  down  the  river,  Keith.  There  are  many  places 
where  you  could  put  me  ashore,  and  I  could  get  back  to 
London  by  rail.  They  won't  know  I  have  ever  seen  you. 
Keith,  you  will  put  me  ashore  now  ?  " 

"  And  if  I  were  to  put  you  ashore  now,  you  would  go  away, 
Gerty,  and  I  should  never  see  you  again — never,  and  never. 
And  what  would  that  be  for  you  and  for  me,  Gerty  ?  But 
now  you  are  here,  no  one  can  poison  your  mind  ;  you  will  be 
angry  for  a  time  ;  but  the  brighter  days  are  coming — oh  yes, 
I  know  that :  if  I  was  not  sure  of  that,  what  would  become 
of  me  ?  It  is  a  good  thing  to  have  hope — to  look  forward  to 
the  glad  days  :  that  stills  the  pain  at  the  heart.  And  now  we 
two  are  together  at  last,  Gerty  !  And  if  you  are  angry,  the 
anger  will  pass  away ;  and  we  will  go  forward  together  to  the 
glad  days." 

She  was  listening  in  a  sort  of  vague  and  stunned  amaze- 
ment. Both  her  anger  and  her  fear  were  slowly  yielding  to 
the  bewilderment  of  the  fact  that  she  was  really  setting  out 
on  a  voyage,  the  end  of  which  neither  she  nor  any  one  living 
could  know. 

"  Ah,  Gerty,"  said  he,  regarding  her  with  a  sk-ange  wist- 
fulness  in  the  sad  eyes,  "  you  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  me 
to  see  you  again  !  I  have  seen  you  many  a  time — in  dreams  ; 
but  you  were  always  far  away,  and  I  could  not  take  your 
hand.  And  I  said  to  myself  that  you  were  not  cruel ;  that 
you  did  not  wish  any  one  to  suffer  pain.  And  I  knew  if  I 
could  only  see  you  again,  and  take  you  away  from  these  peo- 
ple, then  your  heart  would  be  gentle,  and  you  would  think  of 
the  time  when  you  gave  me  the  red  rose,  and  we  went  out  in 
the  garden,  and  all  the  air  round  us  was  so  full  of  gladness 
that  we  did  not  speak  at  all.  Oh  yes  ;  and  I  said  to  myself 
that  your  true  friends  were  in  the  North  ;  and  what  would 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  365 

the  men  at  Dubh-Artach  not  do  for  you,  and  Captain  Mac- 
allum  too,  when  they  knew  you  were  coming  to  live  at  Dare  ; 
and  I  was  thinking  that  would  be  a  grand  day  when  you  came 
to  live  among  us  ;  and  there  would  be  dancing,  and  a  good 
glass  of  whiskey  for  every  one,  and  some  playing  on  the 
pipes  that  day !  And  sometimes  I  did  not  know  whether 
there  would  be  more  of  laughing  or  of  crying  when  Janet 
came  to  meet  you.  But  I  will  not  trouble  you  any  more  now, 
Gerty ;  for  you  are  tired,  I  think ;  and  I  will  send  Christina 
to  you.  And  you  will  soon  think  that  I  was  not  cruel  to  you 
when  I  took  you  away  and  saved  you  from  yourself." 

She  did  not  answer ;  she  seemed  in  a  sort  of  trance. 
But  she  was  aroused  by  the  entrance  of  Christina,  who  came 
in  directly  after  Macleod  left.  Miss  White  stared  at  this  tall 
white-haired  woman,  as  if  uncertain  how  to  address  her ; 
when  she  spoke,  it  was  in  a  friendly  and  persuasive  way. 

"  You  have  not  forgotten  me,  then,  Christina  ?  " 

"  No,  mem,"  said  the  grave  Highland  woman.  She  had 
beautiful,  clear,  blue-gray  eyes,  but*  there  was  no  pity  in 
them. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  no  part  in  this  mad  freak  ?  " 

The  old  woman  seemed  puzzled.  She  said,  with  a  sort 
of  serious  politeness, — 

"  I  do  not  know,  mem.  I  have  not  the  good  English  as 
Hamish." 

"  But  surely  you  know  this,"  said  Miss  Gertrude  White, 
with  more  animation,  "  that  I  am  here  against  my  will  ?  You 
understand  that,  surely  ?  That  I  am  being  carried  away 
against  my  will  fro:^  my  own  home  and  my  friends  ?  You 
know  it  very  well ;  but  perhaps  your  master  has  not  told  you 
of  the  risk  you  run  ?  Do  you  know  what  that  is  ?  Do  you 
think  there  are  no  laws  in  this  country  ?  " 

"  Sir  Keith  he  is  the  master  of  the  boat,"  said  Christina. 
"  Iss  there  anything  now  that  I  can  do  for  you,  mem  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  White,  boldly ;  "  there  is.  You  can 
help  me  to  get  ashore.  And  you  will  save  your  master  from 
being  looked  on  as  a  madman.  And  you  will  save  yourselves 
from  being  hanged." 

"  I  wa«s  to  ask  you,"  said  the  old  Highland  woman 
*'  when  you  would  be  'for  having  the  dinner.  And  Hamish, 
he  wass  saying  that  you  will  hef  the  dinner  what  time  you  are 
thinking  of ;  and  will  you  hef  the  dinner  all  by  yourself  ?  " 

'*  I  tell  you  this,  woman,"  said  Miss  White,  with  quick 
anger,  "  that  I  will  neither  eat  nor  drink  so  long  as  I  am  on 


366  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

board  this  yacht !  What  is  the  use  of  this  nonsense  ?  I  wish 
to  be  put  on  shore.  I  am  getting  tired  of  this  folly.  I  tell 
you  I  want  to  go  ashore  ;  and  I  am  going  ashore  ;  and  it  will 
be  the  worse  for  any  one  who  tries  to  stop  me !  " 

'^  I  do  not  think  you  can  go  ashore,  mem,"  Christina  said, 
somewhat  deliberately  picking  out  her  English  phrases,  "for 
the  gig  is  up  at  the  davits  now ;  and  the  dingy — ^you  wass 
not  thinking  of  going  ashore  by  yourself  in  the  dingy  1  And 
last  night,  mem,  at  a  town,  we  had  many  things  brought  on 
board  ;  and  if  you  would  tell  me  what  you  would  hef  for  the 
dinner,  there  is  no  one  more  willing  than  me.  And  I  hope 
you  will  hef  very  good  comfort  on  board  the  yacht." 

"  I  can't  get  it  into  your  head  that  you  are  talking  non 
sense  !  "  said  Miss  White,  angrily.  "  I  tell  you  I  will  not  go 
anywhere  in  this  yacht  !  And  what  is  the  use  of  talking  to 
me  about  dinner?  I  tell  you  I  will  neither  eat  nor  drink 
while  I  am  on  board  this  yacht !  " 

"I  think  that  would  be  a  ferry  foolish  thing,  mem," 
Christina  said,  humbly  enough  ;  but  all  the  same,  the  scorn- 
ful fashion  in  which  this  young  lady  had  addressed  her  had 
stirred  a  little  of  the  Highland  woman's  blood ;  and  she 
added — still  with  great  apparent  humility — "  But  if  you  will 
not  eat,  they  say  that  iss  a  ferry  good  thing  for  the  pride  ; 
and  there  iss  not  much  pride  left  if  one  hass  nothing  to  eat, 
mem." 

"  I  presume  that  is  to  be  my  prison  ?  "  said  Miss  White, 
haughtily,  turning  to  the  smart  little  stateroom  beyond  the 
companion. 

"  That  iss  your  cabin,  mem,  if  you  please,  mem,"  said 
Christina,  who  had  been  instructed  in  English  politeness  by 
her  husband. 

"  Well,  now,  can  you  understand  this  ?  Go  to  Sir  Keith 
Macleod,  and  tell  him  that  I  have  shut  myself  up  in  that 
cabin  ;  and  that  I  will  speak  not  a  word  to  any  one  ;  and  I 
will  neither  eat  nor  drink  until  I  am  taken  on  shore.  And  so, 
if  he  wishes  to  have  a  murder  on  his  hands,  very  well !  Do 
50U  understand  that  t  " 

"  I  will  say  that  to  Sir  Keith,"  Christina  answered,  sub- 
missively. 

Miss  White  walked  into  the  cabin  and  locked  herself  in. 
It  was  an  apartment  with  which  she  was  familiar ;  but  where 
had  they  got  the  white  heather  ?  And  there  were  books  ;  but 
she  paid  little  heed.  They  would  discover  they  had  not 
broken  her  si)irit  yet. 


MACLEOD  OP  DARE.  367 

On  either  side  the  skylight  overhead  was  open  an  inch  ; 
and  it  was  nearer  to  the  tiller  than  the  skylight  of  the  saloon. 
[n  the  absolute  stillness  of  this  summer  day  she  heard  two 
men  talking.  Generally  they  spoke  in  the  Gaelic,  which  was 
of  course  unintelligible  to  her  ;  but  sometimes  they  wandered 
mto  English — especially  if  the  name  of  some  English  town 
cropped  iip — and  thus  she  got  hints  as  to  the  whereabouts  of 
the  Umpire. 

"  Oh  yes,  it  is  a  fine  big  town  that  town  of  Gravesend,  to 
be  sure,  Hamish,"  said  the  one  voice,  "  and  I  have  no  doubt, 
now,  that  it  will  be  sending  a  gentleman  to  the  Houses  of 
Parliament  in  London,  ju«;t  as  Greenock  will  do.  But  there 
is  no  one  you  will  send  from  Mull.  They  do  not  know  much 
about  Mull  in  the  Houses  of  Parliament." 

"  And  they  know  plenty  about  ferry  much  worse  places," 
said  Hamish,  proudly.  "  And  wass  you  saying  there  will  be 
anything  so  beautiful  about  Greenock  ass  you  will  find  at 
Tobbermorry  ? " 

"  Tobermory ! "  said  the  other;  "  There  are  some  trees 
at  Tobermory — oh  yes  ;  and  the  Mish-nish  and  the  shops — " 

"  Yess,  and  the  waterfahl — do  not  forget  the  waterfalh, 
Colin ;  and  there  iss  better  whiskey  in  Tobbermorry  ass  you 
will  get  in  all  Greenock,  where  they  will  be  for  mixing  it 
with  prandy  and  other  drinks  like  that ;  and  at  Tobbermorry 
you  will  hef  a  Professor  come  all  the  way  from  Edinburgh 
and  from  Oban  to  gif  a  lecture  on  the  Gaelic  ;  but  do  you 
think  he  would  gif  a  lecture  in  a  town  like  Greenock  ?  Oh 
no  ;  he  would  not  do  that !  " 

"  Very  well,  Hamish  ;  but  it  is  glad  I  am  that  we  are  go- 
ing back  the  way  we  came." 

"  And  me,  too,  Colin." 

"  And  I  will  not  be  sorry  when  I  am  in  Greenock  once 
more." 

"  But  you  will  come  with  us  first  of  all  to  Castle  Dare, 
Colin,"  was  the  reply.  "  And  I  know  that  Lady  Macleod 
herself  will  be  for  shaking  hands  with  you,  and  thanking  you 
that  you  wass  tek  the  care  of  the  yacht." 

"  I  think  I  will  stop  at  Greenock,  Hamish.  You  know 
you  can  take  her  well  on  from  Greenock.  And  will  you  go 
round  the  Mull,  Hamish,  or  through  the  Crinan,  do  you 
think  now  t  " 

**  Oh,  I  am  not  afrait  to  tek  her  round  the  Moil ;  but  there 
iss  the  English  lady  on  board  ;  and  it  will  be  smoother  foi 
her  to  go  through  the  Crinan.  And  it  iss  ferry  glad  I  will  be, 


363  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

Colin,  to  see  Ardalanish  Point  again  ;  for  I  would  rather  be 
going  through  the  Doruis  Mohr  twenty  times  ass  getting  pe- 
tween  the  panks  of  this  tamned  river." 

Here  they  relapsed  into  their  native  tongue,  and  she 
listened  no  longer ;  but,  at  all  events,  she  had  learned  that 
they  were  going  away  to  the  North.  And  as  her  nerves  had 
been  somewhat  shaken,  she  began  to  ask  herself  what  further 
thing  this  madman  might  not  do.  The  old  stories  he  had 
told  her  came  back  with  a  marvellous  distinctness.  Would 
he  plunge  her  into  a  dungeon  and  mock  her  with  an  empty 
cup  when  she  was  dying  of  thrist .?  Would  he  chain  her  to  a 
rock  at  low-water;  and  watch  the  tide  slowly  rise  ?  He  pr> 
fessed  great  gentleness  and  love  for  her ;  but  if  the  savage 
nature  had  broken  out  at  last !  Her  fear  grew  apace.  He 
had  shown  himself  regardless  of  everything  on  earth  :  where 
would  he  stop,  if  she  continued  to  repel  him  ?  And  then  the 
thought  of  her  situation — alone  ;  shut  up  in  this  small  room ; 
about  to  venture  forth  on  the  open  sea  with  this  ignorant 
crew — so  overcame  her  that  she  hastily  snatched  at  the  bell 
on  the  dressing  table  and  rang  it  violently.  Almost  instantly 
there  was  a  tapping  at  the  door. 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  mem,"  she  heard  Christina  say. 

She  sprang  to  the  door  and  opened  it,  and  caught  the  arm 
of  the  old  woman. 

"  Christina,  Christina  !  "  she  said,  almost  wildly,  "  you 
won't  let  them  take  me  away  t  My  father  will  give  you  hun- 
dreds and  hundreds  of  pounds  if  only  you  get  me  ashore  1 
Just  think  of  him — he  is  an  old  man — if  you  had  a  daughter 

Miss  White  was  acting  very  well  indeed ;  though  she  was 
more  concerned  about  herself  than  her  father. 

"  I  wass  to  say  to  you,"  Christina  explained  with  some  dif- 
ficulty, "  that  if  you  wass  saying  that.  Sir  Keith  had  a  message 
sent  away  to  your  father,  and  you  wass  not  to  think  any  more 
about  that.  And  now,  mem,  I  cannot  tek  you  ashore  ;  is  iss 
no  business  I  hef  with  that ;  and  I  could  not  go  ashore  my- 
self whateffer  ;  but  I  would  get  you  some  dinner,  mem." 

"  Then  I  suppose  you  don't  understand  the  English  lan- 
guage !  "  Miss  White  exclaimed,  angrily.  "  I  tell  you  I  will 
neither  eat  nor  drink  so  long  as  I  am  on  board  this  yacht ! 
Go  and  tell  Sir  Keith  Macleod  what  I  have  said." 

So  Miss  White  was  left  alone  again ;  and  the  slow  time 
passed  ;  and  she  heard  the  murmured  conversation  of  the 
men  ;  and  also  a  measured  pacing  to  and  fro,  which  she  took 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  369 

to  be  the  step  of  Macleod.  Quick  rushes  of  feeling  went 
through  her,  indignation,  a  stubborn  obstinacy,  a  wonder  over 
the  audacity  of  this  thing,  malevolent  hatred  even  ;  but  all 
these  were  being  gradually  subdued  by  the  dominant  claim 
of  hunger.  Miss  White  had  acted  the  part  of  many  heroines  ; 
but  she  was  not  herself  a  heroine — if  there  is  anything  heroic 
in  starvation.  It  was  growing  to  dusk  when  she  again  sum- 
moned the  old  Highland-woman. 

"  Get  me  something  to  eat,"  said  she  ;  "  I  cannot  die 
like  a  rat  in  a  hole." 

"  Yes,  mem,"  said  Christina,  in  the  most  matter-of-fact 
way ;  for  she  had  never  been  in  a  theatre  in  her  life,  and  she 
had  no^  imagined  that  Miss  White's  threat  meant  anything 
at  all.  "  The  dinner  is  just  ready  now,  mem  ;  and  if  you  v/ill 
hef  it  in  the  saloon,  there  will  be  no  one.  there  ;  that  wass  Sir 
Keith's  message  to  you." 

"  I  will  not  have  it  in  the  saloon  ;  I  will  have  it  here." 

"  Ferry  well,  mem,"  Christina  said,  submissively.  "  But 
you  will  go  into  the  saloon,  mem,  when  i  will  mek  the  bed 
for  you,  and  the  lamp  will  hef  to  be  lit,  but  Hamish  he  will 
light  the  lamp  for  you.  And  are  there  any  other  things  you 
wass  thinking  of  that  you  would  like,  mem  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  want  something  to  eat." 

"  And  Hamish,  mem,  he  wass  saying  I  will  ask  you 
whether  you  will  hef  the  claret-wine,  or — or — the  other  wine, 
mem,  that  makes  a  noise — " 

"  Bring  me  some  water.  But  the  whole  of  you  will  pay 
dearly  for  this  !  " 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  mem  ?  "  said  Christina,  with  great 
respect. 

"  Oh,  go  away,  and  get  me  something  to  eat !  " 

And  in  fact  Miss  White  made  a  very  good  dinner,  though 
the  things  had  to  be  placed  before  her  on  her  dressing-table. 
And  her  rage  and  indignation  did  not  prevent  her  having, 
after  all  a  glass  or  two  of  the  claret-wine.  And  then  she  per- 
mitted Hamish  to  come  in  and  light  the  swinging  lamp ;  and 
thereafter  Christina  made  ujd  one  of  the  two  narrow  beds. 
Miss  White  was  left  alone. 

Many  a  hundred*  times  had  she  been  placed  in  great  peril 
' — on  the  stage  ;  and  she  knew  that  on  such  occasions  it  had 
been  her  duty  to  clasp  her  hand  on  her  forehead  and  set  to 
work  to  find  out  how  to  extricate  herself.  Well,  on  this  oc- 
casion she  did  not  make  use  of  any  dramatic  gesture ;  but 
she  turned  out  tlic  lamp,  and  threw  herself  on  the  top  of  this 


370 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


narrow  little  bed  ;  and  was  determined  that,  before  they  got 
her  conveyed  to  their  savage  home  in  the  North,  she  would 
make  one  more  effort  for  her  freedom.  Then  she  heard  the 
man  at  the  helm  begin  to  hum  to  himself  "  Fhir  a  bhata,  na 
horo  eile."     The   night  darkened.     And  soon   all  the  wild 

emotions  of  the  day  were  forgotten  ;  for  she  was  asleep. 

******* 

Asleep — in  the  very  waters  through  which  she  had  sailed 
with  her  lover  on  the  white  summer  day.  But  Rose-leaf  I 
Rose-leaf  I  what  faint  wind  will  cat  ry  you  now  to  the  South  / 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

THE   VOYAGE   OVER. 


And  now  the  brave  old  Umpire  is  nearing  her  Northern 
home  once  more  ;  and  surely  this  is  a  right  royal  evening 
for  the  reception  of  her.  What  although  the  sun  has  just 
gone  down,  and  the  sea  around  them  become  a  plain  of  heav- 
ing and  wrestling  blue-black  waves  ?  Far  avv^ay,  in  that  pur- 
ple-black sea,  lie  long  promontories  that  are  of  a  still  pale 
rose-color  ;  and  the  western  sky  is  a  blaze  of  golden-green  ; 
and  they  know  that  the  wild,  beautiful  radiance  is  still  touch- 
ing the  wan  walls  of  Castle  Dare.  And  there  is  Ardalanish 
Point ;  and  that  the  ruddy  Ross  of  Mull ;  and  there  will  be 
a  good  tide  in  the  Sound  of  lona.  Why,  then,  do  they  linger, 
and  keep  the  old  Umpire  with  her  sails  flapping  idly  in  the 
wind  ? 

"  As  you  pass  through  Jura's  Sound 

Bend  your  course  by  Scarba's  shore; 
Shun,  oh  shun,  the  gulf  profound 

Where  Corrievreckan's  surges  roar  !  " 

They  are  in  no  danger  of  Corrievreckan  now ;  they  are  in 
familiar  waters  ;  only  that  is  another  Colonsay  that  lies  away 
there  in  the.  south.  Keith  Macleod,  seated  up  at  the  bow, 
is  calmly  regarding  it.  He  is  quite  alone.  There  is  no 
sound  around  him  but  the  lapping  of  the  waves. 

*' And  ever  as  the  year  returns, 

The  charm-bound  sailors  knows  the  day  ; 
For  sadly  still  the 'Mermaid  mourns 
The  lovely  chief  of  Colonsay." 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


371 


And  is  he  listening  now  for  the  wild  sound  of  her  singing  ? 
Or  is  he  thinking  of  the  brave  Macphail,  who  went  back 
after  seven  long  months  of  absence,  and  found  the  maid  of 
Colonsay  still  true  to  him  ?  The  ruby  ring  she  had  given 
him  had  never  paled.  Therp  was  one  woman  who  could  re- 
main true  to  her  absent  lover. 

Hamish  came  forward. 

"  Will  we  go  on  now,  sir  ? "  said  he,  in  the  Gaelic. 

"  No." 

Hamish  looked  round.  The  shining  clear  evening  looked 
very  calm,  notwithstanding  the  tossing  of  the  blue-black 
waves.  And  it  seemed  wasteful  to  the  old  sailor  to  keep 
the  yacht  lying-to  or  aimlessly  sailing  this  way  and  that 
while  this  favorable  wind  remained  to  them. 

*'  I  am  not  sure  that  the  breeze  will  last,  Sir  Keith." 

*'  Are  you  sure  of  anything,  Hamish  ? "  Macleod  said, 
quite  absently.  "  Well,  there  is  one  thing  we  can  all  make 
sure  of.  But  I  have  told  you,  Hamish,  I  am  not  going  up 
the  Sound  of  lona  in  daylight:  why,  there  is  not  a  man  in 
all  the  islands  who  would  not  know  of  our  coming  by  to- 
morrow morning.  We  will  go  up  the  Sound  as  soon  as  it  is 
dark.  It  is  a  new  moon  to-night ;  and  I  think  we  can  go 
without  lights,  Hamish." 

"  Dunara  is  coming  south  to-night,.  Sir  Keith,"  the  old 
man  said. 

"  Why,  Hamish,  you  seem  to  have  lost  all  your  courage 
as  soon  as  you  put  Colin  Laing  ashore." 

"  Colin  Laing  !  Is  it  Colin  Laing  !  "  exclaimed  Hamish, 
indignantly.  "  I  will  know  how  to  sail  this  yacht,  and  I  will 
know  the  banks,  and  the  tides,  and  the  rocks  better  than 
any  fifteen  thousands  of  Colin  Laings  !  " 

"  And  what  if  the  Dunara  is  coming  south  ?  If  she 
cannot  see  us,  we  can  see  her." 

But  whether,  it  was  that  Colin  Laing  had,  before  leaving 
the  yacht,  managed  to  convey  to  Hamish  some  notion  of  the 
risk  he  was  running,  or  whether  it  was  that  he  was  merely 
anxious  for  his  master's  safety,  it  was  clear  that  Hamish 
was  far  from  satisfied.  He  opened  and  shut  his  big  clasp- 
knife  in  an  awkward  silence.     Then  he  said, — ■ 

"  You  will  not  go  to  Castle  Dare,  Sir  Keith  ?  " 

Macleod  started;  he  had  forgotten  that  Hamish  was 
there. 

"  No.     I  have  told  you  where  I  am  going." 

"  But  there  is  not    any  good  anchorage  at   that    island 


372  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

sir !  "  he  protested.  "  Have  I  not  been  round  every  bay  of 
it ;  and  you  too,  Sir  Keith  ?  and  you  know  there  is  not  an 
inch  of  sand  or  of  mud,  but  only  the  small  loose  stones. 
And  then  the  shepherd  they  left  there  all  by  himself ;  it  was 
inad  he  became  at  last,  and  toojc  his  own  life  too." 

"  Well,  do  you  expect  to  see  his  ghost  ?  "  Macleod  said. 
"  Come,  Hamish,  you  have   lost  your  nerve   in  the   South. 
Surely  you  are  not  afraid  of  being  anywhere  in  the  old  yacht, 
so  long  as  she  has  good  sea-room  around  her  ? " 

"  And  if  you  are  not  wishing  to  go  up  the  Sound  of  lona 
in  the  daylight.  Sir  Keith,"  Hamish  said,  still  clinging  to  the 
point,  "  we  could  bear  a  little  to  the  south,  and  go  round  the 
outside  of  lona." 

''  The  Dubh-Artach  men  would  recognize  the  Umpire  at 
once,"  Macleod  said,  abruptly  ;  and  then  he  suggested  to 
Hamish  that  he  should  get  a  little  more  way  on  the  yacht,  so 
that  she  might  be  a  trifle  steadier  when  Christina  carried  the 
dinner  into  the  English  lady's  cabin.  But  indeed  there  was 
now  little  breeze  of  any  kind.  Hamish's  fears  of  a  dead 
calm  was  likely  to  prove  true. 

Meanwhile  another  conversation  had  been  going  forward 
in  the  small  cabin  below,  that  was  now  suffused  by  a  strange 
warm  light  reflected  from  the  evening  sky.  Miss  White  was 
looking  very  well  now,  after  her  long  sea-voyage.  During 
their  first  few  hours  in  blue  water  she  had  been  very  ill 
indeed  ;  and  she  repeatedly  called  en  Christina  to  allow  her 
to  die.  The  old  Highland-woman  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  English  ladies  were  rather  childish  in  their  way ;  but 
the  only  answer  she  made  to  this  reiterated  prayer  was  to 
make  Miss  White  as  comfortable  as  was  possible,  and  to 
administer  such  restoratives  as  she  thought  desirable.  At 
length,  when  recovery  and  a  sound  appetite  set  in,  the  patient 
began  to  show  a  great  friendship  for  Christina.  There  was 
no  longer  any  theatrical  warning  of  the  awful  fate  in  store 
for  everybody  connected  with  this  enterprise.  She  tried 
rather  to  enlist  the  old  woman's  sympathies  on  her  behalf, 
and  if  she  did  not  very  well  succeed  in  that  direction,  at 
least  she  remained  on  friendly  terms  with  Christina  and 
received  from  her  the  solace  of  much  gossip  about  the 
whereabouts  and  possible  destination  of  the  ship. 

And  on  this  evening  Christina  had  an  important  piece  of 
news. 

"  Where  have  we  got  to  now,  Christina  ? "  said  Miss 
White,  quite  cheerfully,  when  the  old  woman  entered. 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  373 

**  Oh  yes,  mem,  we  will  still  be  off  the  Mull  shore,  but  a 
good  piece  away  from  it,  and  there  is  not  much  wind,  mem. 
But  Hamish  thinks  we  will  get  to  the  anchorage  the  night 
whatever." 

"  The  anchorage  ! "  Miss  White  exclaimed  eagerly. 
"  Where }     You  are  going  to  Castle  Dare,  surely  .-*  " 

"  No,  mem,  I  think  not,"  said  Christina.  "  I  think  it  is 
an  island  ;  but  you  will  not  know  the  name  of  that  island — 
there  is  no  English  for  it  at  all." 

"  But  where  is  it  ?     Is  it  near  Castle  Dare  t ' 

"  Oh  no,  mem  ;  it  is  a  good  way  from  Castle  Dare  ;  and 
it  is  out  in  the  sea.  Do  you  know  Gometra,  mem.? — wass 
you  ever  going  out  to  Gometra  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course,  I  remember  something  about  it  any- 
way." 

"  Ah,  well,  it  is  away  out  past  Gometra,  mem  ;  and  not  a 
good  place  for  an  anchorage  whatever ;  but  Hamish-  he  will 
know  all  the  anchorages." 

"  What  on  earth  is  the  use  of  going  there  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  mem." 

"  Is  Sir  Keith  going  to  keep  me  on  board  this  boat  for- 
ever ? " 

"  I  do  not  know,  mem." 

Christina  had  to  leave  the  cabin  just  then ;  when  she 
returned  she  said,  with  some  little  hesitation, 

"  If  I  wass  mekking  so  bold,  men,  ass  to  say  this  to  you  : 
Why  are  you  not  asking  the  questions  of  Sir  Keith  himself  ? 
He  will  know  all  about  it ;  and  if  you  were  to  come  into  the 
saloon,  mem — " 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  enter  into  any  communication 
with  him  after  his  treatment  of  me  ?  "  said  Miss  White, 
indignantly.  "  No  ;  let  him  atone  for  that  first.  When 
he  has  set  me  at  liberty,  then  I  will  speak  with  him  ;  but 
never  so  long  as  he  keeps  me  shut  up  like  a  convict." 

"  I  wass  only  saying,  mem,"  Christina  ansv/ered,  with 
great  respect,  "  that  if  you  were  wishing  to  know  where  we 
were  going.  Sir  Keith  will  know  that ;  but  how  can  I  know 
it  ?  And  you  know,  mem,  Sir  Keith  has  not  shut  you  up  in 
this  cabin  ;  you  hef  the  saloon,  if  you  would  please  to  hef 
it." 

"Thank  you,  I  know!"  rejoined  Miss  White.  "If  I 
choose,  my  gaol  may  consist  of  two  rooms  instead  of  one.  I 
don't  appreciate  that  amount  of  liberty.  I  want  to  be  set 
ashore." 


374 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


"  That  I  hef  nothing  to  do  with,  mem,"  Christina  said, 
humbly,  proceeding  with  her  work. 

Miss  White,  being  left  to  think  over  these  things,  was 
beginning  to  believe  that,  after  all,  her  obduracy  was  not 
likely  to  be  of  much  service  to  her.  Would  it  not  be  wiser 
to  treat  with  the  enemy — perhaps  to  outwit  him  by  a  show 
of  forgiveness  ?  Here  they  were  approaching  the  end  of 
the  voyage — at  least,  Christina  seemed  to  intimate  as 
much ;  and  if  they  were  not  exactly  within  call  of  friends, 
they  would  surely  be  within  rowing  distance  of  some 
inhabited  island,  even  Gometra,  for  example.  And  if  only  a 
message  could  be  sent  to  Castle  Dare  ?  Lady  Macleod  and 
Janet  Macleod  were  women.  They  would  not  countenance 
this  monstrous  thing.  If  she  could  only  reach  them,  she 
would  be  safe. 

The  rose-pink  died  away  from  the  long  promontories,  and 
was  succeeded  by  a  sombre  gray ;  the  glory  in  the  west  sank 
down  ;  a  wan  twilight  came  over  the  sea  and  the  sky  ;  and 
a  small  golden  star,  like  the  point  of  a  needle,  told  where  the 
Dubh-Artach  men  had  lit  their  beacon  for  the  coming  night. 
The  Umpire  lay  and  idly  rolled  in  this  dead  calm  ;  Macleod 
paced  up  and  down  the  deck  in  the  solemn  stillness. 
Hamish  threw  a  tarpaulin  over  the  skylight  of  the  saloon,  to 
cover  the  bewildering  light  from  below ;  and  then,  as  the 
time  went  slowly  by,  darkness  came  over  the  land  and  the 
sea.  They  were  alone  with  the  night,  and  the  lapping  waves, 
and  the  stars. 

About  ten  o'clock  there  was  a  loud  rattling  of  blocks  and 
cordage — the  first  puff  of  a  coming  breeze  had  struck  her. 
The  men  were  at  their  posts  in  a  moment ;  there  were  a  few 
sharp,  quick  orders  from  Hamish;  and  presently  the  old 
Umpire,  with  her  great  boom  away  over  her  quarter,  was 
running  free  before  a  light  southeasterly  wind. 

"  Ay,  ay  !  "  said  Hamish,  in  sudden  gladness,  "  we  will 
soon  be  by  Ardalanish  Point  with  a  fine  wind  like  this.  Sir 
Keith  ;  and  if  you  would  rather  hef  no  lights  on  her — well, 
it  is  a  clear  night  whateffer ;  and  the  Dunara  she  will  hef 
up  her  lights." 

The  wind  came  in  bits  of  squalls,  it  is  true  ;  but  the  sky 
overhead  remained  clear,  and  the  Umpire  bowled  merrily 
along.  Macleod  was  still  on  deck.  They  rounded  the  Ross 
of  Mull,  and  got  into  the  smoother  waters  of  the  Sound. 
Would  any  of  the  people  in  the  cottages  at  Drraidh  see  this 
gray  ghost  of  a  vessel  go  gliding  past  over  the   dark  water  ? 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


375 


Behind  them  burned  the  yellow  eye  of  Dubh-Artach ;  before 
them  a  few  small  red  points  told  them  of  the  lona  cottages; 
and  still  this  phantom  gray  vessel  held  on  her  way.  The 
Umpire  was  nearing  her  last  anchorage. 

And  still  she  steals  onward,  like  a  thief  in  the  night 
She  has  passed  through  the  Sound ;  she  is  in  the  open  sea 
again  ;  there  is  a  calling  of  startled  birds  from  over  the  dart 
bosom  of  the  deep.  Then  far  away  they  watch  the  light  oi 
a  steamer ;  but  she  is  miles  from  their  course ;  they  cannot 
even  hear  the  throb  of  her  engines. 

It  is  another  sound  they  hear — a  low  booming  as  of 
distant  thunder.  And  that  black  thing  away  on  their  right 
— scarcely  visible  over  the  darkened  waves — is  that  the 
channelled  and  sea-bird  haunted  Staffa,  trembling  through  all 
her  caves  under  the  shock  of  the  smooth  Atlantic  surge  ? 
For  all  the  clearness  of  the  starlit  sky,  there  is  a  wild  boom- 
ing of  waters  all  around  her  rocks  ;  and  the  giant  caverns 
answer ;  and  the  thunder  shudders  out  to  the  listening  sea. 

The  night  drags  on.  The  Dutchman  is  fast  asleep  in  his 
vast  Atlantic  bed  ;  the  dull  roar  of  the  waves  he  has  heard 
for  millions  of  years  is  not  likely  to  awake  him.  And 
Fladda  and  Lunga ;  purely  this  ghost-gray  ship  that  steals 
by  is  not  the  old  Umpire  that  used  to  visit  them  in  the  gay 
summer-time,  with  her  red  ensign  flying,  and  the  blue  seas 
all  around  her  ?  But  here  is  a  dark  object  on  the  waters  that 
is  growing  larger  and  larger  as  one  approaches  it.  The 
black  outline  of  it  is  becoming  sharp  against  the  clear  dome 
of  stars.  There  is  a  gloom  around  as  one  gets  nearer  and 
nearer  the  bays  and  cliffs  of  this  lonely  island  ;  and  now  one 
hears  the  sound  of  breakers  on  the  rocks.  Hamish  and  his 
men  are  on  the  alert.  The  topsail  has  been  lowered.  The 
heavy  cable  of  the  anchor  lies  ready  by  the  windlass.  And 
then,  as  the  Umpire  glides  into  smooth  water,  and  her  head 
is  brought  round  to  the  light  breeze,  away  goes  the  anchoi 
with  a  rattle  that  awakes  a  thousand  echoes  ;  and  all  the 
startled  birds  among  the  rocks  are  calling  through  the  night 
— the  sea-pyots  screaming  shrilly,  the  curlews  uttering  their 
warning  note,  the  herons  croaking  as  they  wing  their  slow 
flight  away  across  the  sea.  The  Umpire  has  got  to  her 
anchorage  at  last. 

And  scarcely  was  the  anchor  dovm  when  they  brought  him 
a  message  from  the  English  lady.  She  was  in  the  saloon, 
and  wished  to  see  him.  He  could  scarcely  believe  this;  for 
it  was  now  past  midnight,  and  she  had  never  come  into  the 


376  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

saloon  before.  But  he  went  down  through  the  forecastle, 
and  through  his  own  stateroom,  and  opened  the  door  of  the 
saloon. 

For  a  second  the  strong  light  almost  blinded  him  ;  but, 
at  all  events,  he  knew  she  was  sitting  there  ;  and  that  she 
was  regarding  him  with  no  fierce  indignation  at  all,  but  with 
quite  a  friendly  look. 

"  Gertrude  !  "  said  he,  in  wonder ;  but  he  did  npt  ap- 
proach her.  He  stood  before  her,  as  one  who  was  submis- 
sive. 

"  So  we  have  got  to  land  at  last,"  said  she  ;  and  more 
and  more  he  wondered  to  hear  the  friendliness  of  her  voice. 
Could  it  be  true,  then  ?  Or  was  it  only  one  of  those  visions 
that  had  of  late  been  torturing  his  brain  ? 

"  Oh  yes,  Gerty !  "  said  he.  "  We  have  got  to  an  an- 
chorage." 

"  I  thought  I  would  sit  up  for  it,"  said  she.  "  Christina 
said  we  should  get  to  land  some  time  to-night ;  and  I  thought 
I  would  like  to  see  you.  Because,  you  know,  Keith,  you  have 
used  me  very  badly.     And  won't  you  sit  down  ?  " 

He  accepted  that  invitation.  Could  it  be  true  ?  could  tt  be 
true  ?  This  was  ringing  in  his  ears.  He  heard  her  only  in 
a  bewildered  way. 

"  And  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  you  mean  to  do  with 
me,"  said  she,  frankly  and  graciously  :  "  I  am  at  your  mercy, 
Keith." 

"  Oh,  not  that — not  that,"  said  he  ;  and  he  added,  sadly 
enough,  "  it  is  I  who  have  been  at  your  mercy  since  ever  I 
saw  you,  Gerty  ;  and  it  is  for  you  to  say  what  is  to  become 
of  you  and  of  me.  And  have  you  got  over  your  anger  now  ? 
And  will  you  think  of  all  that  made  me  do  this,  and  try  to 
forgive  it  for  the  sake  of  my  love  for  you,  Gerty  ?  Is  there 
any  chance  of  that  now  .?  " 

She  rather  avoided  the  earnest  gaze  that  was  bent  on  her. 
She  did  not  notice  how  nervously  his  hand  gripped  the  edge 
of  the  table  near  him. 

"  Well,  it  is  a  good  deal  to  forgive,  Keith  ;  you  will  ac- 
knowledge that  yourself :  and  though  you  used  to  think  that 
I  was  ready  to  sacrifice  everything  for  fame,  I  did  not  ex- 
pect you  would  make  me  a  nine-days'  wonder  in  this  way.  I 
suppose  the  whole  thing  is  in  the  papers  now." 

"  Oh  no,  Gerty  ;  I  sent  a  message  to  your  father." 

"  Well,  that  was  kind  of  you — and  audacious.  Were  you 
not  afraid  of  his  overtaking  you  1     The    Umpire  is  not  the 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


77 


sv/iftest  of  sailers,  you  used  to  say  ;  and  you  know  there  arc 
telegraphs  and  railways  to  all  the  ports." 

"  He  did  not  know  you  were  in  the  Umpire^  Gerty.  But 
of  course,  if  he  were  very  anxious  about  you,  he  would  write 
or  come  to  Dare.  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  he  were  theie 
now."   ■ 

A  quick  look  of  surprise  and  gladness  sprang  to  her  face. 

"  Papa — at  Castle  Dare  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  And  Chris- 
tina says  it  is  not  far  from  here." 

"  Not  many  miles  away." 

"  Then,  of  course,  they  will  know  we  are  here  in  the 
morning ! "  she  cried,  in  the  indiscretion  of  sudden  joy. 
"  And  they  will  come  out  for  me." 

"  Oh  no,  Gerty,  they  will  not  come  out  for  you.  No  hu- 
man being  but  those  oA  board  knows  that  we  are  here.  Do 
you  think  they  could  see  you  from  Dare  ?  And  there  is  no 
one  living  now  on  the  island.     We  are  alone  in  the  sea." 

The  light  died  away  from  her  face  ;  but  she  said,  cheer- 
fully enough, — 

"  Well,  I  am  at  your  mercy,  then,  Keith.  Let  us  take  it 
that  way.  Now  you  must  tell  me  what  part  in  the  comedy 
you  mean  me  to  plav;  for  the  life  of  me  I  can't  make  it 
out." 

"  Oh,  Gerty,  Gerty,  do  not  speak  like  that ! "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  You  are  breaking  my  heart !  Is  there  none  of 
the  old  love  left  ?     Is  it  all  a  matter  for  jesting }  " 

She  saw  she  had  been  incautious. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  gently,  "  I  was  WTong ;  I  know  it  is 
more  serious  than  that ;  and  I  am  not  indisposed  to  forgive 
you,  if  you  treat  me  fairly.  I  know  you  have  great  earnest- 
ness of  nature  ;  and — and  you  were  very  fond  of  me  ;  and 
although  you  have  risked  a  great  deal  in  what  you  have  done, 
still,  men  who  are  very  deeply  in  love  don't  think  much  about 
consequences.  And  if  I  were  to  forgive  you,  and  make 
friends  again.,  what  then  ?  " 

"  And  if  we  were  as  we  used  to  be,"  said  he,  with  a  grave 
wistfulness  in  his  face,  "  do  you  not  think  I  would  gladly 
take  you  ashore,  Gerty  ?  " 

"  And  to  Castle  Dare  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  to  Castle  Dare  !  Would  not  my  mother  and 
Janet  be  glad  to  welcome  you  !•" 

"  And  papa  may  be  there  ?'" 

**  If  he  is  not  there,  can  we  not  telegraph  for  him  ?  Why, 


378 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


Gerty,  surely  you  would  not  be  married  anywhere  but  in  the 
Highlands  ?  " 

At  the  mention  of  marriage  she  blanched  somewhat ;  but 
she  had  nerved  herself  to  play  this  part. 

"  Then,  Keith,"  said  she,  gallantly,  "  I  will  make  you  a 
promise.  Take  me  to  Castle  Dare  to-morrow,  and  the  mo- 
ment I  am  within  its  doors  I  will  shake  hands  with  you,  and 
forgive  you,  and  we  will  be  friends  again  as  in  the  old  days." 

"  We  were  more  than  friends,  Gerty,"  said  he,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Let  us  be  friends  first,  and  then  who  knows  what  may 
not  follow  ?  "  said  she,  brightly.  "  You  cannot  expect  me  to 
be  overprofuse  in  affection  just  after  being  shut  up  like 
this  ?  " 

"Gert»y,"  said  he,  and  he  looked  at  her  with  those 
strangely  tired  eyes,  and  there  was  a  great  gentleness  in  his 
voice,  "  do  you  know  where  you  are  ?  You  are  close  to  the 
island  that  I  told  you  of — where  I  wish  to  have  my  grave  on 
the  cliff.  But  instead  of  a  grave,  would  it  not  be  a  fine  thing 
to  have  a  marriage  here  ?  No,  do  not  be  alarmed,  Gerty  ? 
it  is  only  with  your  own  good-will ;  and  surely  your  heart 
will  consent  at  last !  Would  not  that  be  a  strange  wedding, 
too ;  with  the  minister  from  Salen ;  and  your  father  on 
board  ;  and  the  people  from  Dare  ?  Oh,  you  would  see  such 
a  number  of  boats  come  out  that  day,  and  we  would  go 
proudly  back  ;  and  do  you  not  think  there  would  be  a  great 
rejoicing  that  day  ?  Then  all  our  troubles  would  be  at  an 
end,  Gerty  !  There  would  be  no  more  fear ;  and  the  theatres 
would  never  see  you  again  ;  and  the  long  happy  life  we 
should  lead,  we  two  together !  And  do  you  know  the  first 
thing  I  would  get  you,  Gerty  ? — it  would  be  a  new  yacht !  I 
would  go  to  the  Clyde  and  have  it  built  all  for  you.  I  would 
not  have  you  go  out  again  in  this  yacht,  for  you  would  then 
remember  the  days  in  which  I  was  cruel  to  you  ;  but  in  a 
new  yacht  you  would  not  remember  that  any  more  ;  and  do 
you  not  think  we  would  have  many  a  pleasant,  long  summer 
day  on  the  deck  of  her,  and  only  ourselves,  Gerty  ?  And 
you  woidd  sing  the  songs  I  first  heard  you  sing,  and  I  think 
the  sailors  would  imagine  they  heard  the  singing  of  the 
mermaid  of  Colonsay ;  for  there  is  no  one  can  sing  as  you 
can  sing,  Gerty.  I  think  it  was  that  first  took  away  my  heart 
from  me." 

"  But  we  can  talk  about  all  these  things  when  I  am  on 
shore  again,"  said  she,  coldly.      "  You  cannot  expect  me 


MACLEOD  OF  DA^E. 


379 


to   be  very  favorably  disposed   so   long   as   I  am   shut  up 
here." 

"  But  then,"  he  said,  "  if  you  were  on  shore  you  might 
go  away  again  from  me,  Gerty  !  The  people  would  get  at 
your  ear  again  ;  they  would  whisper  things  to  you ;  you 
would  think  about  the  theatres  again.  I  have  saved  you, 
sweetheart ;  can  I  let  you  go  back  ?  " 

The  words  were  spoken  with  an  eager  affection,  and 
yearning;  but  they  sank  into  her  mind  with  a  dull  and  cold 
conviction  that  there  was  no  escape  for  her  through  any  way 
of  artifice. 

"  Am  I  to  understand,  then,''  said  she,  "  that  you  mean 
to  keep  me  a  prisoner  here  until  I  marry  you  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  speak  like  that,  Gerty  ?  " 

"  I  demand  an  answer  to  my  question." 

"  I  have  risked  everything  to  save  you ;  can  I  let  you  go 
back  ? " 

A  sudden  flash  of  desperate  anger — even  of  hatred — 
was  in  her  eyes ;  her  fine  piece  of  acting  had  been  of  no 
avail. 

"  Well,  let  the  farce  end  !  "  said  she,  with  frowning  eye- 
brows.    "  Before  I  came  on  board  this  yacht   I  had  some 
pity  for  you.     I  thought  you  were  at  least  a  man,  and  had  a 
man's    generosity.      Now   I    find    you    a    coward,    and    a' 
tyrant—" 

"  Gerty ! " 

"  Oh,  do  not  think  you  have  frightened  me  with  your 
stories  of  the  revenge  of  your  miserable  chiefs  and  their 
savage  slaves !  Not  a  bit  of  it !  Do  with  me  what  you 
like  ;  I  would  not  marry  you  if  you  gave  me  a  hundred 
yachts  ! " 

"Gerty!" 

The  anguish  of  his  face  was  growing  wild  with  despair. 

"  I  say,  let  the  farce  end  !  I  had  pity  for  you — yes,  I 
had  !     Now — I  hate  you  !  " 

He  sprang  up  with  a  quick  cry,  as  of  one  shot  to  the 
heart.  He  regarded  her,  in  a  bewildered  manner,  for  one 
brief  second  ;  and  then  he  gently  said,  "  Good-night,  Gerty  ! 
God  forgive  you  !  "  and  he  staggered  backward,  and  got  out 
of  the  saloon,  leaving  her  alone. 

See  !  the  night  is  still  fine.  All  around  this  solitary  bay 
there  is  a  wall  of  rock,  jet  black,  against  the  clear,  dark  sky, 
with  its  myriad  twinkling  stars.  The  new  moon  has  arisen  ; 
but  it  sheds  but  little  radiance  yet  down  there  in  the  south. 


380  MACLEOD  OF  DARE 

There  is  a  sharper  gleam  from  one  himlDent  planet — a  thin 
line  of  golden-yellow  light  that  comes  all  the  way  across  from 
the  black  rocks  until  it  breaks  in  flashes  among  the  ripples 
close  to  the  side  of  the  yacht.  Silence  once  more  reigns 
around ;  only  from  time  to  time  one  hears  the  croak  of  a 
heron  from  the  dusky  shore. 

What  can  keep  this  man  up  so  late  on  deck  ?  There  is 
nothing  to  look  at  but  the  great  bows  of  the  yacht  black  against 
the  pale  gray  sea,  and  the  tall  spars  and  the  rigging  going 
away  up  into  the  starlit  sky,  and  the  suffused  glow  from  the 
skylight  touching  a  yellow-gray  on  the  main-boom.  There  is 
no  need  for  the  anchor-watch  that  Hamish  was  insisting  on  : 
the  equinoctials  are  not  likely  to  begin  on  such  a  night  as 
this. 

He  is  looking  across  the  lapping  gray  water  to  the  jet- 
black  line  of  cliff.  And  there  are  certain  words  haunting 
him.    He  cannot  forget  them  ;  he  cannot  put  them  away. 

Wherefore  is  light  given  to  him  that  is  in  misery,  and 

LIFE  unto    the   bitter    IN    SOUL  ?    *   *   *=    WhICH    LONG    FOR 

DEATH,  BUT  IT  COMETH  NOT  ;    AND  DIG  FOR  IT  MORE  THAN  FOR 

HIDDEN  TREASURES.  *  *  =*  WhICH  REJOICE  EXCEEDINGLY,  AND 

ARE  GLAD  W^IEN  THEY  CAN    FIND  THE  GRAVE. 

******* 

Then,  in  the  stillness  of  the  night,  he  heard  a  breathing. 
He  went  forward,  and  found  that  Hamish  had  secreted  him- 
self behind  the  windlass.  He  uttered  some  exclamation  in 
the  Gaelic ,  and  the  old  man  rose  and  stood  guiltily  before 
him. 

"  Have  I  not  told  you  to  go  below  before  ?  and  will  I  have 
to  throw  you  down  into  the  forecastle  ?  " 

The  old  man  stood  irresolute  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
said,  also  in  his  native  tongue, — 

"You  should  not  speak  like  that  to  me,  Sir  Keith  :  I  have 
known  you  many  a  year." 

Macleod  caught  Hamish's  hand. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Hamish.  You  do  not  know.  It  is 
a  sore  heart  I  have  this  night." 

"  Oh,  God  help  us  !  Do  I  not  know  that !  "  he  exclaimed, 
in  a  broken  voice  ;  and  Macleod,  as  he  turned  away,  could 
hear  the  old  man  crying  bitterly  in  the  dark.  What  else  could 
Hamish  do  now  for  him  who  had  been  to  him  as  the  son  of 
his  old  age  ? 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE  381 

"  Go  below  now,  Hamlsh,"  said  Macleod  in  a  gentle  voice  • 
and  the  eld  man  slowly  and  reluctantly  obeyed. 

But  the  night  had  not  drawn  to  day  when  Macleod  again 
went  forward,  and  said,  in  a  strange,  excited  whisper, — 

"  Hamish,  Hamish,  are  you  awake  now  ?  " 

Instantly  the  old  man  appeared  ;  he  had  not  turned  into 
his  berth  at  all. 

"  Hamish,  Hamish,  do  you  hear  the  sound  ? "  Macleod 
said,  in  the  same  wild  way  ;  "  do  you  not  hear  the  sound  t  " 

"  What  sound,  Sir  Keith  ? "  said  he  ;  for  indeed  there  was 
nothing  but  the  lapping  of  the  water  along  the  side  of  the 
yacht  and  a  murmur  of  ripples  along  the  shore. 

"  Do  you  not  hear  it,  Hamish  ?  It  is  a  sound  as  of  a 
brass-band  ! — a  brass-band  playing  music — as  if  it  was  in  a 
theatre.     Can  you  not  hear  it,  Hamish  ?  " 

"  Oh,  God  help  us  !  God  help  us  ! "  Hamish  cried. 

"  You  do  not  hear  it,  Hamish  ?  "  he  said.  "  Ah,  it  is  some 
mistake.  I  beg  your  pardon  for  calling  you,  Hamish  :  now 
you  will  go  below  again." 

"  Oh  no.  Sir  Keith,"  said  Hamish.  "  Will  I  not  stay  on 
deck  now  till  the  morning  ?  It  is  a  fine  sleep  I  have  had  ; 
oh  yes,  I  had  a  fine  sleep.  And  how  is  one  to  know  when 
the  equinoctials  may  not  come  on  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  to  go  below,  Hamish." 
And  now  this  sound  that  is  ringing  in  his  ears  is  no  longer  of 
the  brass-band  that  he  had  heard  in  ^he  theatre.  It  is  quite 
different.  It  has  all  the  ghastly  mirth  of  that  song  that  Nor- 
man Ogilvie  used  to  sing  in  the  old,  half-forgotten  days. 
What  is  it  that  he  hears  ? 

"  King  Death  was  a  rare  okl  fellow, 

He  sat  where  no  sun  could  shine; 
And  he  lifted  his  hand  so  yellow, 

And  poured  out  his  coal-black  wine  ! 
Hurrah  I  hurrah  !  hurrah  !  for  the  coal-black  wine  I" 

It  is  a  strange  mirth.  It  might  almost  make  a  man  laugh. 
For  do  we  not  laugh  gently  when  we  bury  a  young  child,  and 
put  the  flowers  over  it,  and  know  that  it  is  at  peace  ?  The 
child  has  no  more  pain  at  the  heart.  Oh,  Norman  Ogilvie, 
are  you  still  singiitg  the  wild  song }  and  are  you  laughing 
now  ? — or  is  it  the  old  man  Hamish  that  is  crying  in  the 
dark  ? 


382  MACLEOD  OF  DAT^E, 

*'  There  came  to  him  many  a  maiden. 
Whose  eyes  had  forgot  to  shine  ; 
And  widows  with  grief  o'erladen, 
For  a  draught  of  his  sleepy  wine. 
Hurrah  1  hurrah  !  hurrah  I  for  the  coal-black  wine  !  " 

It  is  such  a  fine  thing  to  sleep — when  one  has  been  fretting 
all  the  night,  and  spasms  of  fire  go  through  the  brain ! 
Ogilvie,  Ogilvie,  do  you  remember  the  laughing  Duchess  ? 
do  you  think  she  would  laugh  over  one's  grave  ;  or  put  her 
foot  on  it,  and  stand  relentless,  with  anger  in  her  eyes  ? 
That  is  a  sad  thing ;  but  after  it  is  over  there  is  sleep. 

##*=«=#:*# 

"  All  came  to  the  rare  old  fellow, 

Who  laughed  till  his  eyes  dropped  brine, 
As  he  gave  them  his  hand  so  yellow, 

And  pledged  them,  in  Death's  black  wine  ! 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  I  for  the  coal-black  wine  I " 

Hamish  ! — Hamish ! — will  you  not  keep  her  away  from  me  i 
I  have  told  Donald  what  pibroch  he  will  play ;  I  want  to 
be  at  peace  now.  But  the  brass-band — the  brass-band — I 
can  hear  the  blare  of  the  trumpets ;  Ulva  will  know  that  we 
are  here,  and  the  Gometra  men,  and  the  sea-birds  too,  that  I 
used  to  love.  But  she  has  killed  all  that  now,  and  she 
stands  on  my  grave.  She  will  laugh,  for  she  was  light- 
hearted,  like  a  young  child.  But  you,  Hamish,  you  will  find 
the  quiet  grave  for  me  ;  and  Donald  will  play  the  pibroch 
for  me  that  I  told  him  of ;  and  you  will  say  no  word  to  her  of 

all  that  is  over  and  gone. 

4t  *****  * 

See — he  sleeps.  This  haggard-faced  man  is  stretched  on 
the  deck ;  and  the  pale  dawn,  arising  in  the  east,  looks  at 
him  ;  and  does  not  revive  him,  but  makes  him  whiter  still. 
You  might  almost  think  he  was  dead.  But  Hamish  knows 
better  than  that ;  for  the  old  man  comes  stealthily  forward  ; 
and  he  has  a  great  tartan  plaid  in  his  hands  ;  and  very  gently 
indeed  he  puts  it  over  his  young  master.  And  there  are 
tears  running  down  Hamish's  face  ;  and  he  says  "  The  brave 
ad  !  the  brave  lad  ! " 


§ACLEOD  OF  DARE,  383 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

THE   END. 

"  Duncan,"  said  Hamish,  in  a  low  whisper — for  Macleod 
had  gone  below,  and  they  thought  he  might  be  asleep  in  the! 
small,  hushed  state-room,  "  this  is  a  strange-looking  day,  is 
it  not  ?  And  I  am  afraid  of  it  in  this  open  bay,  with  an  an- 
chorage no  better  than  a  sheet  of  paper  for  an  anchorage. 
Do  you  see  now  how  strange-looking  it  is  ?  " 

Duncan  Cameron  also  spoke  in  his  native  tongue ;  and 
he  said, — 

"  That  is  true,  Hamish.  And  it  was  a  day  like  this  there 
was  when  the  Solan  was  sunk  at  her  moorings  in  Loch 
Hourn.  Do  you  remember,  Hamish  ?  And  it  would  be 
better  for  us  now  if  we  were  in  Loch  Tua,  or  Loch-na-Keal, 
or  in  the  dock  that  was  built  for  the  steamer  at  Tiree.  I  do 
not  like  the  look  of  this  day." 

Yet  to  an  ordinary  observer  it  would  have  seemed  that 
the  chief  characteristic  of  this  pale,  still  day,  was  extreme 
and  settled  calm.  There  was  not  a  bieath  of  wind  to  ruffle 
the  surface  of  the  sea ;  but  there  was  a  slight,  glassy  swell, 
and  that  only  served  to  show  curious  opalescent  tints  under 
the  suffused  light  of  the  sun.  There  were  no  clouds  ;  there 
was  only  a  thin  veil  of  faint  and  sultry  mist  all  across  the 
sky;  the  sun  was  invisible,  but  there  was  a  glare  of  yellow 
at  one  point  of  the  heavens.  A  dead  calm  ;  but  heavy,  op- 
pressed, sultry.  There  was  something  in  the  atmosphere 
that  seemed  to  weigh  on  the  chest. 

"There  was  a  dream  I  had  this  morning,"  continued 
Hamish,  in  the  same  low  tones.  "  It  was  about  my  little 
granddaughter  Christina.  You  know  my  little  Christina, 
Duncan.  And  she  said  to  me,  'What  have  you  done  with 
Sir  Keith  Macleod  ?  Why  have  you  not  brought  him  back  } 
He  was  under  your  care,  grandfather.'  I  did  not  like  that 
dream." 

"  Oh,  you  are  becoming  as  bad  as  Sir  Keith  Macleod 
himself  ?  "  said  the  other.  "  He  does  not  sleep.  He  talks 
to  himself.  You  will  become  like  that  if  you  pay  attention 
to  foolish  dreams,  Hamish." 


384  MACLEOD  OF  DA^E, 

Hamish's  quick  temper  leaped  up. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Duncan  Cameron,  by  saying,  *  as 
bad  as  Sir  Keith  Macleod  ?  You — you  come  from  Ross : 
perhaps  they  have  not  good  masters  there.  I  tell  you  there 
is  not  any  man  in  Ross,  or  in  Sutherland  either,  is  as  good  a 
master,  and  as  brave  a  lad,  as  Sir  Keith  Macleod — not  any 
one,  Duncan  Cameron  !  " 

"  I  did  not  mean  anyth  ng  like  that,  Hamish,"  said  the 
ot'iier,  humbly.  "But  there  was  a  breeze  this  morning.  We 
could  have  got  over  to  Loch  Tua.  Why  did  we  stay  here, 
where  there  is  no  shelter  and  no  anchorage  ?  Do  you  know 
what  is  likely  to  come  after  a  day  like  this  ? " 

"  It  is  your  business  to  be  a  sailor  on  board  this  yacht ; 
it  is  not  your  business  to  say  where  she  will  go,"  said 
Hamish. 

But  all  the  same  the  old  man  was  becoming  more  and 
more  alarmed  at  the  ugly  aspect  of  the  dead  calm.  The 
very  birds,  instead  of  stalking  among  the  still  pools,  or  lying 
buoyant  on  the  smooth  waters,  were  excitedly  calling,  and 
whirring  from  one  point  to  another. 

"  If  the  equinoctials  were  to  begin  now,"  said  Duncan 
Cameron,  "  this  is  a  fine  place  to  meet  the  equinoctials  ! 
An  open  bay,  without  shelter ;  and  a  gronnd  that  is  no 
ground  for  an  anchorage.  It  is  not  two  anchors  or  twenty 
anchors  would  hold  in  such  ground." 

Macleod  appeared  ;  the  man  was  suddenly  silent.  With- 
out a  word  to  either  of  them — and  that  was  not  his  wont — 
he  passed  to  the  stern  of  the  yacht.  Hamish  knew  from  his 
manner  that  he  would  not  be  spoken  to.  He  did  not  follow 
him,  even  with  all  this  vague  dread  on  his  mind. 

The  day  wore  on  to  the  afternoon.  Macleod,  who  had 
been  pacing  up  and  down  the  deck,  suddenly  called  Hamish. 
Hamish  came  aft  at  once. 

"  Hamish,"  said  he,  with  a  strange  sort  of  laugh,  "  do  you 
remember  this  morning,  before  the  light  came }  Do  you 
remember  that  I  asked  you  about  a  brass-band  that  I  heard 
playing  ?  " 

Hamish  looked  at  him,  and  said,  with  an  earnest  anxiety, 

"  Oh,  Sir  Keith,  you  will  pay  no  heed  to  that !  It  is  very 
common  ;  I  have  heard  them  say  it  is  very  common.  Why, 
to  hear  a  brass-band,  to  be  sure  !  There  is  nothing  more 
common  than  that.  And  you  will  not  think  you  are  unwel' 
merely  because  you  think  you  can  hear  a  brass-band  play 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  385 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  me,  Hamish,"  said  he,  in  the  same 
jesting  way,  "  whether  my  eyes  have  followed  the  example 
of  my  ears,  and  are  playing  tricks.  Do  you  think  they  are 
bloodshot,  with  my  lying  on  deck  in  the  cold  ?  Hamish, 
what  do  you  see  all  around  ?  " 

The. old  man  looked  at  the  sky,  and  the  shore,  and  the 
sea.  It  was  a  marvellous  thing.  The  world  was  all  en- 
shrouded in  a  salmon-colored  mist :  there  was  no  line  ot 
horizon  visible  between  the  sea  and  the  sky. 

"  It  is  red,  Sir  Keith,"  said  Hamish. 

"  Ah  !  Am  I  in  my  senses  this  time  ?  And  what  do 
you  think  of  a  red  day,  Hamish?  That  is  not  a  usual 
thing." 

"  Oh,  Sir  Keith,  it  will  be  a  wild  night  this  night !  And 
we  cannot  stay  here,  with  this  bad  anchorage  !  " 

"  And  where  would  you  go,  Hamish — in  a  dead  calm  ?  " 
Macleod  asked,  still  with  a  smile  on  the  wan  face. 

"  Where  would  I  go  ?  "  said  the  old  man,  excitedly.  "  I 
— I  will  take  care  of  the  yacht.  But  you,  Sir  Keith  ;  oh ! 
you — you  will  go  ashore  now.  Do  you  know,  sir,  the  shell- 
ing that  the  shepherd  had  ?  It  is  a  poor  place  ;  oh  yes  ;  but 
Duncan  Cameron  and  I  will  take  some  things  ashore.  And 
do  you  not  think  we  can  look  after  the  yacht  ?  She  has  met 
the  equinoctials  before,  if  it  is  the  equinoctials  that  are 
beginning.  She  has  met  them  before  ;  and  cannot  she  meet 
them  now  ?     But  you,  Sir  Keith,  you  will  go  ashore. 

Macleod  burst  out  laughing,  in  an  odd  sort  of  fashion. 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  good  at  running  away  when  there  is 
any  kind  of  danger,  Hamish.  Have  you  got  into  the  English 
way.  Would  you  call  me  a  coward  too  .''  Nonsense,  non- 
sense, nonsense,  Hamish !  I — why,  I  am  going  to  drink  a 
glass  of  the  coal-black  wine,  and  have  done  with  it.  I  will 
drink  it  to  the  health  of  my  sweetheart,  Hamish  ! " 

"  Sir  Keith,"  said  the  old  man,  beginning  to  tremble, 
though  he  but  half  understood  the  meaning  of  the  scornful 
mirth,  "  I  have  had  charge  of  you  since  you  were  a  young 
lad." 

"  Very  well  I " 

"  And  Lady  Macleod  will  ask  of  me,  *  Such  and  such  a 
thing  happened :  what  did  you  do  for  my  son  ? '  Then  I  will 
say,  *  Your  ladyship,  we  were  afraid  of  the  equinoctials  ;  and 
we  got  Sir  Keith  to  go  ashore  ;  and  the  next  day  we  went 
ashore  for  him  ;  and  now  we  have  brought  him  back  to  Castle 
Dare  !  " 


386  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"  Hamish,  Hamish,  you  are  laughing  at  me  !  Or  you 
want  to  call  me  a  coward  ?  Don't  you  know  I  should  be 
afraid  of  the  ghost  of  the  shepherd  who  killed  himself  ? 
Don't  you  know  that  the  English  people  call  me  a  coward  ?  '* 

"  May  their  souls  dwell  in  the  downmost  hall  of  perdi- 
tion ! "  said  Hamish,  with  his  cheeks  becoming  a  gray- 
white  ;  "  and  every  woman  that  ever  came  of  the  accursed 
race !  " 

He  looked  at  the  old  man  for  a  second,  and  he  gripped 
his  hand. 

"  Do  not  say  that,  Hamish — that  is  folly.  But  you 
have  been  my  friend.  My  mother  will  not  forget  you — it's 
not  the  way  of  a  Macleod  to  forget — whatever  happens  to 
me." 

"  Sir  Keith  ! "  Hamish  cried,  "  I  do  not  know  what  you 
mean  !     But  you  will  go  ashore  before  the  night  ?  " 

"  Go  ashore,"  Macleod  answered,  with  a  return  to  this 
wild,  bantering  tone,  "  when  I  am  going  to  see  my  sweet- 
heart ?  Oh  no  I  Tell  Christina,  now  !  Tell  Christina  to 
ask  the  young  English  lady  to  come  into  the  saloon,  for  I 
have  something  to  say  to  her.     Be  quick,  Hamish  !  " 

Hamish  went  away ;  and  before  long  he  returned  with 
the  answer  that  the  young  English  lady  was  in  the  saloon. 
And  now  he  was  no  longer  haggard  and  piteous,  but  joyful  ; 
and  there  was  a  strange  light  in  his  eyes. 

"  Sweetheart,"  said  he,  "  are  you  waiting  for  me  at  last  ? 
I  have  brought  you  a  long  way.  Shall  we  drink  a  glass  now 
at  the  end  of  the  voyage  ?  " 

"  Do  you  wish  to  insult  me  ? "  said  she  ;  but  there  was  no 
anger  in  her  voice  :  there  was  more  of  fear  in  her  eyes  as  she 
regarded  him. 

"  You  have  no  other  message  for  me  than  the  one  you 
gave  me  last  night,  Gerty  ?  "  said  he,  almost  cheerfully.  "  It 
is  all  over,  then  t  You  would  go  away  from  me  forever  ? 
But  we  will  drink  a  glass  before  we  go !  '* 

He  sprang  forward,  and  caught  both  her  hands  in  his 
with  the  grip  of  a  vice. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  have  done,  Gerty  ?  "  said  he,  in 
a  low  voice.  "  Oh,  you  have  soft,  smooth,  English  ways ; 
and  you  are  like  a  rose-leaf  ;  and  you  are  like  a  queen,  whom 
all  people  are  glad  to  serve.  But  do  you  know  that  you  have 
killed  a  man's  life  1  And  there  is  no  penalty  for  that  in  the 
South,  perhaps  ;  but  you  are  no  longer  in  the  South.  And 
if  you  have  this  very  night  to  drink  a  glass  with  me,  you 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  3S7 

will  not  refuse  it  ?      It   is  only   a  glass   of  the  coal-black 
wine !  " 

She  struggled  back  from  him,  for  there  was  a  look  in  his 
face  that  frightened  her.  But  she  had  a  wonderful  self 
command. 

"  Is  that  the  message  I  was  to  hear  ?  "  she  said,  coldly. 

"  Why,  sweetheart,  are  you  not  glad  ?  Is  not  that  the 
only  gladness  left  for  you  and  for  me,  that  we  should  drink 
one  glass  together,  and  clasp  hands,  and  say  good-byr 
What  else  is  there  left  ?  What  else  could  come  to  you  and 
to  me  ?  And  it  may  not  be  this  night,  or  to-morrow  night ; 
but  one  night  I  think  it  will  come  ;  and  then,  sweetheart,  we 
will  have  one  more  glass  together,  before  the  end." 

He  went  on  deck.     He  called  Hamish. 

"  Hamish,"  said  he,  in  a  grave,  matter  of  fact  way,  "  I 
don't  like  the  look  of  this  evening.  Did  you  say  the  shelling 
was  still  on  the  island  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes.  Sir  Keith,"  said  Hamish,  with  great  joy  ;  for  he 
thought  his  advice  was  going  to  be  taken,  after  all. 
.  "  Well,  now,  you  know  the  gales,  when  they  begin,  some- 
times last  for  two,  or  three,  or  four  days ;  and  I  will  ask  you 
to  see  that  Christina  takes  a  good  store  of  things  to  the 
sheiling  before  the  darkness  comes  on.  Take  plenty  of 
things  now,  Hamish,  and  put  them  in  the  sheiling,  for  I  am 
afraid  this  is  going  to  be  a  wild  night." 

Now,  indeed,  all  the  red  light  had  gone  away;  and  as 
the  sun  went  down  there  was  nothing  but  a  spectral  white- 
ness over  the  sea  and  the  sky ;  and  the  atmosphere  was  so 
close  and  sultry  that  it  seemed  to  suffocate  one.  Moreover, 
there  was  a  dead  calm  ;  if  they  had  wanted  to  get  away 
from  this  exposed  place,  how  could  they  ?  They  could 
not  get  into  the  gig  and  pull  this  great  yacht  over  to  Loch 
Tua. 

It  »vas  with  a  light  heart  that  Hamish  set  about  this 
thing  ;  and  Christina  forthwith  filled  a  hamper  with  tinned 
meats,  and  bread,  and  whiskey,  and  what  not.  And  fuel  was 
taken  ashore,  too  ;  and  candles,  and  a  store  of  matches.  If 
the  gales  were  coming  on,  as  appeared  likely  from  this 
ominous-looking  evening,  who  could  tell  how  many  days  and 
nights  the  young  master — and  the  English  lady,  too,  if  he 
desired  her  company — might  not  have  to  stay  ashore,  while 
the  men  took  the  chance  of  the  sea  with  this  yacht,  or  per 
haps  seized  the  occasion  of  some  lull  to  make  for  some  place 
of  shelter  t     There  was  Loch  Tua,  and  there  was  the  bay  at 


388  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

Bunessan,  and  there  was  the  little  channel  called  Polterriv, 
behind  the  rocks  opposite  lona.  Any  shelter  at  all  was 
better  than  this  exposed  place,  with  the  treacherous  an- 
chorage. 

Hamish  and  Duncan  Cameron  returned  to  the  yacht. 

"  Will  you  go  ashore  now,  Sir  Keith  ? "  the  old  man 
said. 

"  Oh  no  ;  I  am  not  going  ashore  yet,  It  is  not  yet  time 
to  run  away,  Hamish." 

He  spoke  in  a  friendly  and  pleasant  fashion,  though 
Hamish,  in  his  increasing  alarm,  thought  it  no  proper  time 
for  jesting.  They  hauled  the  gig  up  to  the  davits,  however, 
and  again  the  yacht  lay  in  dead  silence  in  this  little  bay. 

The  evening  grew  to  dusk ;  the  only  change  visible  in 
the  spectral  world  of  pale  yellow-white  mist  was  the  appear- 
ance in  the  sky  of  a  number  of  small,  detached  bulbous- 
looking  clouds  of  a  dusky  blue-gray.  They  had  not  drifted 
hither,  for  there  was  no  wind.  They  had  only  appeared. 
They  were  absolutely  motionless. 

But  the  heat  and  the  suffocation  in  this  atmosphere 
became  almost  insupportable.  The  men,  with  bare  heads, 
and  jerseys  unbuttoned  at  the  neck,  were  continually  going 
to  the  cask  of  fresh  water  beside  the  windlass.  Nor  was  there 
any  change  when  the  night  came  on.  If  anything,  the  night 
was  hotter  than  the  evening  had  been.  They  awaited  in 
silence  what  might  come  of  this  ominous  calm. 

Hamish  came  aft. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir  Keith,"  said  he,  "  but  I  am 
thinking  we  will  have  an  anchor-watch  to-night." 

"You  will  have  no  anchor-watch  to-night,"  Macleod 
answered,  slowly,  from  out  of  the  darkness.  "  I  will  be  all 
the  anchor-watch  you  will  need,  Hamish,  until  the  morning." 

"  You,  sir  ! "  Hamish  cried.  "  I  have  been  waiting  to 
take  you  ashore :  and  surely  it  is  ashore  that  you  are 
going ! " 

Just  as  he  had  spoken  there  was  a  sound  that  all  the 
world  seemed  to  stand  still  to  hear.  It  was  a  low  murmur- 
ing sound  of  thunder  ;  but  it  was  so  remote  as  almost  to  be 
inaudible.  The  next  moment  an  awful  thing  occurred.  The 
two  men  standing  face  to  face  in  the  dark  suddenly  found 
themselves  in  a  blaze  of  blinding  steel-blue  light ;  and  at  the 
very  same  instant  the  thunder-roar  crackled  and  shook  all 
around  them  like  the  firing  of  a  thousand  cannon.  How 
the  wild  echoes  went  booming  over  the  sea !      Then  they 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE,  389 

were  in  the  black  night  again.  There  was  a  period  of  awed 
silence. 

"  Hamish,"  Macleod  said,  quickly,  "  do  as  I  tell  you 
now  I  Lower  the  gig  ;  take  the  men  with  you,  and  Christina, 
and  go  ashore,  and  remain  in  the  sheiling  till  the  morning." 

"  I  will  not !  "  Hamish  cried.  "  Oh,  Sir  Keith,  would 
you  have  me  do  that  ? " 

Macleod  had  anticipated  his  refusal.  Instantly  he  went 
forward  and  called  up  Christina.  He  ordered  Duncan 
Cameron  and  John  Cameron  to  lower  away  the  gig.  He  got 
them  all  in  but  Hamish. 

"  Hamish,"  said  he,  "  you  are  a  smaller  man  than  I.  Is  it 
on  such  a  night,  that  you  would  have  me  quarrel  with  you  ? 
Must  I  throw  you  into  the  boat  ?  " 

The  old  man  clasped  his  trembling  hands  together  as  if 
in  prayer ;  and  he  said,  with  an  agonized  and  broken  voice, 

"  Oh,  Sir  Keith,  you  are  my  master,  and  there  is  nothing 
I  will  not  do  for  you ;  but  only  this  one  night  you  will  let 
me  remain  with  the  yacht  ?  I  will  give  you  the  rest  of  my 
life  ;  but  only  this  one  night — " 

"  Into  the  gig  with  you  ! "  Macleod  cried,  angrily.  "Why, 
man,  don  t  you  think  I  can  keep  anchor-watch  ?  "  But  then 
he  added,  very  gently,  "  Hamish,  shake  hands  with  me  now. 
You  were  my  friend,  and  you  must  get  ashore  before  the  sea 
rises." 

"  I  will  stay  in  the  dingy,  then  ? "  the  old  man  entreated. 

"  You  will  go  ashore,  Hamish  ;  and  this  very  instant, 
too.  If  the  gale  begins,  how  will  you  get  ashore.  Good- 
by,  Hamish — good-fiight  I " 

Another  white  sheet  of  flame  quivered  all  around  them, 
just  as  this  black  figure  was  descending  into  the  gig  ;  and  then 
the  fierce  hell  of  sounds  broke  loose  once  more.  Sea  and 
sky  together  seemed  to  shudder  at  the  wild  uproar,  and  far 
away  the  sounds  went  thundering  through  the  hollow  night. 
How  could  one  hear  if  there  was  any  sobbing  in  that  depart- 
ing boat,  or  any  last  cry  of  farewell  ?  It  was  Ulva  calling 
now,  and  Fladda  answering  from  over  the  black  water  ;  and 
the  Dutchman  is  surely  awake  at  last ! 

There  came  a  stirring  of  wind  from  the  east,  and  the  sea 
began  to  moan.  Surely  the  poor  fugitives  must  have  reached 
the  shore  now.  And  then  there  was  a  strange  noise  in  the 
distance  :  in  the  awful  silence  between  the  peals  of  thunder 
it  would  be  heard  ;  it  came  nearer  and  nearer — a  low  mur- 
muring noise,  but  full  of  secret  life  and  thrill — it  came  along 


390  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

like  the  tread  of  a  thousand  armies — and  then  the  gale 
struck  its  first  blow.  The  yacht  reeled  under  the  stroke, 
but  her  bows  staggered  up  again  like  a  dog  that  has  been 
felled,  and  after  one  or  two  convulsive  plunges  she  clung 
hard  at  the  strained  cables.  And  now  the  gale  was  growing 
in  fury,  and  the  sea  rising.  Blinding  showers  of  rain  swept 
over,  hissing  and  roaring  ;  the  white  tongues  of  flame  were 
shooting  this  way  and  that  across  the  startled  heavens  ;  and 
there  was  a  more  awful  thunder  than  even  the  falling  of  the 
Atlantic  surge  booming  into  the  great  sea-caves.  In  the 
abysmal  darkness  the  spectral  arms  of  the  ocean  rose  white 
in  their  angry  clamor ;  and  then  another  blue  gleam  would 
lay  bare  the  great  heaving  and  wreathing  bosom  of  the  deep. 
What  devil's  dance  is  this  ?  Surely  it  cannot  be  Ulva — 
Ulva  the  green-shored — Ulva  that  the  sailors,  in  their  love 
of  her,  call  softly  Ool-a-va — that  is  laughing  aloud  with  wild 
laughter  on  this  awful  night  ?  And  Colonsay,  and  Lunga, 
and  Fladda — they  were  beautiful  and  quiet  in  the  still  sum- 
mer-time ;  but  now  they  have  gone  mad,  and  they  are  flinging 
back  the  plunging  sea  in  white  masses  of  foam,  and  they  are 
shrieking  in  their  fierce  joy  of  the  strife.  And  Staffa — > 
Staffa  is  far  away  and  alone  ;  she  is  trembling  to  her  core  : 
how  long  will  the  shuddering  caves  withstand  the  mighty 
hammer  of  the  Atlantic  surge  ?  And  then  again  the  sudden 
wild  gleam  startles  the  night,  and  one  sees,  with  an  appal- 
ling vividness,  the  driven  white  waves  and  the  black  island ; 
and  then  again  a  thousand  echoes  go  booming  along  the 
iron-bound  coast.  What  can  be  heard  in  the  roar  of  the 
hurricane,  and  the  hissing  of  rain,  and  the  thundering  whirl 
of  the  waves  on  the  rocks  ?  Surely  not  the  glad  last  cry  : 
Sweetheart  !  your  health  !  your  health  in  the  coal- 
clack  WINE? 

******* 

The  poor  fugitives  crouching  in  among  the  rocks  :  is  it 
the  blinding  rain  or  the  driven  white  surf  that  is  in  their 
eyes  ?  But  they  have  sailors'  eyes  ;  they  can  see  through 
the  awful  storm ;  and  their  gaze  is  fixed  on  one  small  green 
point  far  out  there  in  the  blackness — the  starboard  light  of 
the  doomed  ship.  It  wavers  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  but  it 
does  not  recede  ;  the  old  Umpire  still  clings  bravely  to  her 
chain-cables. 

And  amidst  all  the  din  of  the  storm  they  hear  the  voice 
of  Hamish  lifted  aloud  in  lamentation  : — 

"  Oh,  the  brave  lad !  the  brave  lad  !     And  who  is  to  save 


MACLEOD  OF  DARE.  391 

my  young  master  now  ?  and  who  will  carry  this  tale  back  to 
Castle  Dare  ?  They  will  say  to  me  :  '  Hamish,  you  had 
charge  of  the  young  lad  :  you  put  the  first  gun  in  his  hand  : 
you  had  charge  of  him :  he  had  the  love  of  a  son  for  you : 
what  is  it  you  have  done  with  him  this  night  ? '  He  is  my 
Absalom ;  he  is  my  brave  young  lad :  oh,  do  you  think  that 
I  will  let  him  drown  and  do  nothing  to  try  to  save  him  ?  Do 
you  think  that  ?  Duncan  Cameron,  are  you  a  man  ?  Will 
you  get  into  the  gig  with  me  and  pull  out  to  the  Umpire  ?  " 

"  By  God,"  said  Duncan  Cameron,  solemnly,  "  I  will  do 
that !  I  have  no  wife ;  I  do  not  care.  I  will  go  into  the 
gig  w'th  you,  Hamish;  but  we  will  never  reach  the  yacht — 
this  night  or  any  night  that  is  to  come." 

Then  the  old  woman  Christina  shrieked  aloud,  and  caught 
her  husband  by  the  arm. 

"  Hamish }  Hamish !  Are  you  going  to  drown  yourself 
before  my  eyes  ?  " 

He  shook  her  hand  away  from  him. 

"  My  young  master  ordered  me  ashore  :  I  have  come 
ashore.  But  I  myself,  I  order  myself  back  again.  Duncan 
Cameron,  they  will  never  say  that  we  stood  by  and  saw 
Macleod  of  Dare  go  dowK  to  his  grave  ! " 

They  emerged  from  the  shelter  of  this  great  rock ;  the 
hurricane  was  so  fierce  that  they  had  to  cling  to  one  boulder 
after  another  to  save  themselves  from  being  whirled  into  the 
sea.  But  were  these  two  men  by  themselves  ?  Not  likely  ! 
It  was  a  party  of  five  men  that  now  clambered  along  the 
slippery  rocks  to  the  shingle  up  which  they  had  hauled  the 
gig,  and  one  wild  lightning-flash  saw  them  with  their  hands 
on  the  gunwale,  reay  to  drag  her  down  to  the  water.  There 
was  a  surf  raging  there  that  would  have  swamped  twenty 
gigs  :  these  five  men  were  going  of  their  own  free-will  and 
choice  to  certain  death — so  much  had  they  loved  the  young 
master. 

But  a  piercing  cry  from  Christina  arrested  them.  They 
looked  out  to  sea.  What  was  this  sudden  and  awful  thing  ? 
Instead  of  the  starboard  green  light,  behold !  the  port  red 
light — and  that  moving  ?  Oh  see  !  how  it  recedes,  wavering, 
flickering  through  the  whirling  vapor  of  the  storm  !  And 
there  again  is  the  green  light !  Is  it  a  witch's  dance,  or  are 
they  strange  death-fires  hovering  over  the  dark  ocean  grave  ? 
But  Hamish  knows  too  well  what  it  means  ;  and  with  a  wild 
cry  of  horror  and  despair,  the  old  man  sinks  on  his  knees  and 
clasps  his  hands,  and  stretches  them  out  to  ^he  terrible  sea. 


392  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 

"  Oh  Macleod,  Macleod  !  are  you  going  away  from  me 
forever  and  we  will  go  up  the  hills  together  and  on  the  lochs 
together  no  more — no  more — no  more  !  Oh,  the  brave  lad 
that  he  was  ! — and  the  good  master !  And  who  was  not  proud 
of  him — my  handsome  lad — and  he  the  last  of  the  Macleods 
of  Dare  ? " 

Arise,  Hamish,  and  have  the  gig  hauled  up  into  shelter ; 
for  will  you  not  want  it  when  the  gale  abates,  and  the  seas 
are  smooth,  and  you  have  to  go  away  to  Dare,  you  and  youi 
comrades,  with  silent  tongues  and  sombre  eyes  ?  Why  this 
wild  lamentation  in  the  darkness  of  the  night  ?  The  stricken 
heart  that  you  loved  so  well  has  found  peace  at  last;  the 
coal-black  wine  has  been  drank  ;  there  is  an  end  !  And  you, 
you  poor  cowering  fugitives,  who  only  see  each  other's  terri 
fied  faces  when  the  wan  gleam  of  the  lightning  blazes  through 
the  sky,  perhaps  it  is  well  that  you  should  weep  and  wail  for 
the  young  master ;  but  that  is  soon  over,  and  the  day  will 
break.  And  this  is  what  I  am  thinking  of  now  :  when  the 
light  comes,  and  the  seas  are  smooth,  then  which  of  you — oh, 
which  of  you  all  will  tell  this  tale  to  the  two  women  at  Castle 
Dare. 

*♦♦#*** 

So  fair  shines  the  morning  sun  on  the  white  sands  of 
lona !  The  three  days'  gale  is  over.  Behold,  how  Ulva — 
Ulva  the  green-shored — the  Ool-a-va  that  the  sailors  love — 
is  laughing  out  again  to  the  clear  skies  !  And  the  great  skarts 
on  the  shores  of  Erisgeir  are  spreading  abroad  their  dusky 
wings  to  get  them  dried  in  the  sun ;  and  the  seals  are  bask- 
ing on  the  rocks  in  Loch-na-Keal ;  and  in  Loch  Scridain  the 
white  gulls  sit  buoyant  on  the  blue  sea.  There  go  the  Gome- 
tra  men  in  their  brown-sailed  boat  to  look  after  the  lobster- 
traps  at  Staffa,  and  very  soon  you  will  see  the  steamer  come 
round  the  far  Cailleach  Point ;  over  at  Erraidh  they  are  sig- 
nalling to  the  men  at  Dubh-artach,  and  they  are  glad  to  have 
a  message  from  them  after  the  heavy  gale.  The  new,  bright 
day  has  begun ;  the  world  has  awakened  again  to  the  joyous 
sunlight ;  there  is  a  chattering  of  the  sea-birds  all  along  the 
shores.  It  is  a  bright,  eager,  glad  cfay  for  all  the  world.  But 
there  is  silence  in  Castle  Dare  ! 


THE    END. 


\ 


WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  cent«  -  ^^  ''^NALTY 
DAY  AND  TO  $I.OO  OK.  Jm  °'^^"E'^OURTH 
OVERDUE.  '^    ^"=    SEVENTH     DAY 


LD2l-i00m-7,'39(4028) 


Black,  W, 
Macleod 


of  Dare 


>»»  g  mf>(c^^^,,,^ 


M45814 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


